


A Heart Untraveled

by Sensitivelass33



Series: The Sig Chronicles [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Loki Angst, Loki. runs away, References to Norse Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensitivelass33/pseuds/Sensitivelass33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody is a villain in their own story.  We're all the heroes of our own stories. - George R. R. Martin</p><p>We all know what happened to Loki in the Thor and Avengers films.  But what about before?  Can someone who has experienced love still become evil?  Are they still worthy of love?  What of the lover -- how complicit is one in the wrongdoings of one's soulmate?</p><p>It is all a matter of perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Person of Interest

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any part of the Marvel Universe.
> 
> This is slightly Alternate Universe (AU) for the Marvel universe. Most of the action occurs prior to the events of Thor. Smaller amounts of the story occur before/during Avengers, and then some after Thor 2.
> 
> AU in that Loki knows his origins as a Frost Giant but has not gone to Jotunheim/killed Laufey/taken over for Odin as he did in Thor 1. In my AU, Influenced by Norse mythology as far as giving background to some of the things that occurred in Marvel universe.
> 
> This first chapter occurs just before the events of The Avengers.

In the weeks and months leading up to the battle of New York, S.H.E.I.L.D. operatives in the area had a strange case.  That is, if you could even call it that.  At the most it was suspicious activity that might result in an investigation.  Facial recognition software identified a woman named Sigrid Inluk approaching information vital to planetary security.  Greenland citizen turned US student, she was a mystery wrapped in an enigma enveloped in a very tiny package, being just over five feet tall.  
  
The woman held two PhDs: one in medieval history, with a specialization in the Viking explorations of the New World (close to her heart for she lived near one back in Greenland) and another PhD in comparative religion, with a particular interest in the rise and fall of pagan religions after the spread of Christianity.  It would seem that her studies had turned, oddly enough, to astrophysics, specifically the works of Dr. Erik Selvig and Dr. Jane Foster.  Ever since Thor had first come to the planet, S.H.E.I.L.D. was protective of these studies of Einstein-Rosen bridges, though Dr. Foster and Dr. Selvig did eventually have their research returned, and were allowed to continue in their exploration of the concepts.  Someone else approaching the concepts?  That was another story.  
  
It wasn't simply the information they possessed about this woman that was puzzling -- it was the lack of it.  She was successful academically, an itinerant student in her thirties, with a seemingly endless cashflow of unknown origin.  Despite possessing two PhDs, she had never held a post as a professor anywhere.  She had never been employed by anyone, it seemed.  
  
The few records that existed had begun to appear less than ten years prior, which was very strange.  Birth certificate, tax records, traffic tickets?  There was nothing.  It was as if she had not existed before she entered _Ilisimatusarfik_ (the University of Greenland) to begin her undergraduate work.  Advisors and fellow students hadn't a single bad thing to say of her; besides describing her as very quiet, they all praised her boundless curiosity for a variety of topics and generally loving nature.  There was no record of her having a family, not even talk of a single boyfriend past or present who could give additional information regarding her.  That was strange, especially seeing that she was a young, attractive, and successful woman with a congenial personality.  Usually there was at least one jilted lover ready to help ruin someone’s life.  
  
If the lack of any records at all had not been odd enough, the woman showed up in odd places without apparent reason.  Like her appearance in the records of visitors to Dr. Elliot Randolph, a historic folklore professor in Spain.  When questioned about her, the usually cheerful professor turned morose.  His mood seemed out of place, especially since no one they had spoken with previously in connection with her had mentioned not getting along with her.  
  
"Yes, I did meet with this young woman."  Defensive, to be sure.  But why?  
  
"Care to elaborate what the topic of your conversation was?" the agent probed.  
  
"She was seeking my knowledge on some documents."  Crossed arms and a distracted glance told the agent that this was going to be like pulling teeth.  
  
"What type of documents?"  
  
"It wouldn't interest you," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, "We had a rather long and dusty academic discussion about first sources and the legitimacy of certain sources versus others.   She was looking for advice in selecting bibliography choices, I suppose.  She hardly needed my help."  
  
Dr. Randolph had not been very helpful.  The whole situation seemed a bit shady: a humanities professor helping an astrophysics student?  Did not make much sense.  But the interview did not provide enough evidence to demand further investigation.  The feeling amongst the agents was that they were close to something, so they had the woman under covert surveillance.  She began to visit strange places: Veteran's Affairs office, Stark Tower's human resources department, the Russian embassy.  But then the Chitari invasion of New York took precedence over this seemingly suspicious woman and the case was all but abandoned.  
  
Sigrid sighed in relief when she noticed that her constant companions, S.H.E.I.L.D, were not at her favorite coffee shop in the days following.  No suspicious vehicles parked outside her apartment building.  No people randomly following her.  They almost discovered the truth, but as he had said all those years ago, "They have vision but they cannot see."  Silly Midgardians...how were they to know that they themselves had enabled the very disaster they had to be saved from?


	2. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever wonder what the New Yorkers not affected directly by the battle experienced?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be minimal switching of POV in this work, I promise. But I find it necessary to have at least this chapter in Sig's.

* * *

**Brooklyn, NY**

**USA**

**Midgard**

**2012**

This was torture. Didn’t matter that kitchen was just ten or so feet away; the distance was just enough that she was going to miss a few minutes of the continuous news coverage of what was happening so close in Manhattan. Not that observing would change the outcome in the slightest. It wouldn’t. But knowing what was happening was much better than the all-consuming dread that threatened to floor her as she waited for the kettle to boil.  
  
Should she have joined the 21st century and bought a smartphone so that she could be connected even while in another room from the television?  She had grown extremely frustrated at the dependence these people seemed to have on the little metal boxes as they had developed in complexity these past decades. Playing games, texting, listening to music... the constant distraction seemed to numb them to the fact that their society was crumbling. When she went out, it seemed she was the only one actually actively involved in the present moment.  Everyone else was too busy.  
  
No, if she could get through this situation without one, she didn’t need a smartphone.  Now the printing press, that was a good invention... had the situation been less bleak, she would have smiled. He would have found that funny.  
  
It was with shaking hands that she brought her still-steeping cup of Darjeeling into the next room and set it down on the coffee table.  
  
Destruction. That was what the news was portraying. Yes, the Earth’s heroes seemed to be holding their own against the invasion, had seemed to contain it within a rather small portion of the city, but the amount of property damage was boggling. There probably had been a few casualties as well, but the news didn’t mention that. That would be discovered as cleanup began.  
  
Sitting on her couch, entranced by the television, she suddenly felt overwhelmed. She swung her legs from the floor onto the couch and grabbed one of her throw pillows, burying her face in it as she clutched it to her chest. Breath hitched in her throat, and she suddenly felt very warm. It had been quite a while since she had panicked like this.  At least not since the Cuban missile crisis.  
  
Yes, she had obtained the information from the humans themselves, not making any illegal moves in order to get it.  But in doing so, she had enabled this, helped give the pieces to him so that he might create a perfect picture of those who would show up here. There were the statistics, the contact information, the blueprints. Her job was done, and here he was.  And it wasn't going well.  
  
Besides her own part in it, she was troubled. This felt very unlike Loki. What would he accomplish with all of this? Destruction? World domination? While the first was likely, there was no way that this small act could accomplish the second, regardless of how many of these creatures were unleashed. Destruction for destruction’s sake did not fit with how she saw him, how she knew him to be. What was the end result of all this? He had always been a big picture type. Loki may have had held century-long grudges, but he would never be so rash as to cause havoc without an endgame. What was the endgame?  
  
Had anyone she had met this century known of him, they may have told her that people change. It had been a very long time since they were together; this could just be who he was now. Of course, that could be true. But she knew instinctively that those few months they spent together so long ago had left her with a better understanding of who he was than many who had known him his whole life possessed. He may interact with multitudes, but the number of those who were welcome into his trust were few.  What would he have gained from deceiving her all those years ago? She had nothing of value then: a bow, some arrows, and countless questions. He had shaped who she was now, helped her to develop some of the skills that had maintained her survival throughout the intervening years.  The concrete survival skills, she had mastered a long time ago; it was the dealing with other people that troubled her.  This was where he truly excelled.  Had she any reason to doubt that anything they shared was not real?  
  
Lost in thought as she was, she hadn’t noticed that she was clenching her jaw tightly. The sudden release of the pressure made her cringe in pain. The pillow was thrown to the floor. Her cursing roused the large white Norwegian forest cat in the next room from her napping, leading her to pad cautiously into the room, before jumping onto the arm of the couch to see what was happening.  Her eyes showed her concern as she whisked her tail back and forth.  
  
“Don’t you look at me like that, Sváva.” Simultaneously watching the news, pulling up one’s hair, and talking to one’s cat led to all three actions being performed very lousily. “They could have found me out and imprisoned me, and then who would feed you?” A tilt of the head was always the proper response when her owner started talking crazy.  
  
Temples were already starting to pound, so the failed multitasker turned her attention to the completely ignored tea before her. This was going to be at least a three cup afternoon, probably more. Something told her they would not have the chance to encounter one another before this battle came to an end. A morbid thought rose in her mind. She hoped her cat would die of old age before he *did* come back again. Sváva had often been the only one who listened to her, comforted her at all since she’d gotten her. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving her behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was this, slightly funnyish? I talk to my cat, and I swear he definitely shows me how he feels about certain things just by the way he acts.
> 
> Also, Sváva was a valkyrie -- I am meaning for much of the Norse mythology I have studied to come out in one way or another so keep your eyes open. I will put some of the references in the notes.
> 
> Lastly -- have dictionaries at the ready! In the subsequent chapters I tried to evoke the eloquence of Tom Hiddleston as Loki. Please let me know if I am successful.


	3. A Touch of Contrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The god of mischief does a little soul searching

It is assumed that the inhabitants of Asgard all possess certain traits.  Loyalty.  Honesty.  Honor.  I blame Thor, for it was the standard to which Odin raised him.  The truth abides, much different from the archetype which my brother has become.  Veritably, I am not the only liar in Asgard.  Mine are not the only lips to have deceived others.  Where did I learn it but from my guardian.  Odin.  Only following in Daddy’s footsteps, after all.  Who could blame me for adhering so very well to the model which I was given?  
  
Even Heimdall has his few stretches of the truth...  I find them to be more hyperbole actually.  The fact that he sees all, in every direction, eternally?  Untrue.  He didn’t see me slip away from Asgard that evening nearly six centuries ago; his eyes were focused elsewhere in the nine realms.  He did, however, see what followed for me in Midgard.  I don’t blame him. Who wouldn‘t be a voyeur when you have powers like that?  I am sure he reasoned with himself that this was simply the teenaged rebellion I would so soon leave behind for a responsible adult life.  Let the boy have his escape...all would realign itself in time.  
  
In hindsight, I know why I went...to escape.  I never belonged in Asgard.  And now, Thor was being groomed to rule.  All idolized him.  And what was to become of me?  As children, Odin had told us both that we were born to be kings.  There was to be no throne for me.  
  
My anger did not explode as it did later.  Rather, my indignation glowed as do the embers of a dying fire.  Given more fuel, they would assuredly ignite.  But not at this time.  I did not want a throne, then; I simply wished for a lifting of the veil of deceit surrounding me and my place in the realm.  
  
It was all too much for me.  Simply existing in the realm was excruciating.  My resentment became a physical aching in the deepest parts of me; it kept me up at night.  This was how I was driven to escape.  I'm clever, I had an escape route in mind; it was simply building up the courage to actually complete the plan.  I knew of the hidden passage from ancient works in my mother’s library.  The location of this portal was etched into my memory from countless hours spent pouring over those works, seeking anything to distract me from reality.  Where it led, the tome did not say.  To another world.  This was all that mattered.  As long as I did not have to remain here.  Honest strangers, even if they be hostile, were preferable to familiar liars.

* * *

We were so close in  childhood, Thor and I.  I still have much affection for him, though his intentions are misguided.  We cannot share our existence as we once did.  Had we remained in as close of kinship, I may have told him of Sigrid when he met this Jane Foster.  I crave to think that he would have understood me a little better then.  
  
Rather I must continue to deceive him, spouting the precepts which guide my diffusion through the universe.  Humanity and sentiment lead to one’s downfall.  Inferior beings let themselves be ruled by them.  They are guided by folly unto their own destruction.  Thor shall never know what I truly know of sentiment.  I put it aside while other pressing matters are being dealt with. She vowed her loyalty unto perpetuity.  She would reside in Midgard until my mission was complete.  I take her at her word.  I do not trust any, save her.  How did someone so modest become the one with whom I trust with my very life?  
  
The story is so strange that it bears telling.  An unplanned trip can do so much to change the sequence of one’s existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you think that Tom Hiddleston's voice just lends itself to narration like this? I could hear him read the phonebook.


	4. Midgard at Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback of Loki visiting Earth in the past? Yes please.

**Greenland**

**Midgard**

**1450**  
  
This realm always seemed a children’s version of Asgard; in this era it was no different.  Midgardians were as in-observant then as they are today, but it was laughable to pass so unnoticed without use of conjury.  Yet it befit one to find apparel more suitable than one’s court accouterments, so that was one area in which I adjusted my appearance.  
  
As the journey through the realm continued, the stillness was remarkable.  The populace revealed in their dealings with one another that a great scourge had swept the land but a few generations before.  It had been such a scourge that apprehension and disgust still remained.  I don’t know why, but this pleased me.  These Midgardians were not proud; they knew their own mortality, from the poorest to the richest.  Thor and Odin’s realm could benefit from this humility.  
  
It soon became tiresome to wander through the more populated areas of the realm -- I saw the same thing, and it was rather disgusting.  The very very rich, and the very very poor.  Each remained within their own spheres, spitefully looking upon the other.  The violence and thievery were widespread.  A bit of sorcery and I was transported.  Mother and her library taught me the beginnings of this skill; no matter what happens, in her and in her instruction of these skills I shall ever remain grateful.  
  
As luck or predestination would have it, the location was a chilled island whose inhabitants worshiped Odin.  Untouched by the scourge of the other land, they did not fear death.  Rather, they looked forward to dining in the halls of Valhalla, regaling others with their many feats of battle and their proud ultimate sacrifice.  Though they reminded me much of the realm I so abhorred, it was a realm of which I held knowledge, so I began to regale them of some stories they had not heard, like the sinking of the golden ship of Runemad, and of the man who stole Odin’s runic staffs and tricked those who came to assist the ruler of Asgard.  I asked for little in return for these tales.  My payment was simple; in exchange for my tales, they were to tell a true story of their own.  Also they were to end inquiries regarding my identity or parentage.  And it was in these stories that she was first revealed unto me.  
  
Some time ago, before they had arrived in this new land, there was a woman.  Nameless except for “The Lady” or “The White Lady,” she was a real-life fable.  Some time before, her ancestor had traveled with them to settle the island.  Once the work of the settlement was done, she withdrew. This ancestor had decided to settle apart from her brethren (where she had come from before she was with them had been lost to the ages).  
  
Ever since, all generations of her family had stayed apart; the seldom appearances, when compared to the stories one’s grandparents and parents had told, revealed that The Lady and her female descendants looked nearly identical.  Which was strange, as the generations of husbands and fathers that generated descendants must have been outsiders.  (Never-mind the fact that the Norsemen were the only settlers on the island.  I wasn’t here to give them lessons in logic.  It would be a waste of time.)  
  
They always asked themselves, “It couldn't be the same woman....could it?” but left it at that, an examination in possibility over half-empty tankards of mead.  I felt compelled to solve this mystery.  
  
This “White Lady” had residence on an island far from the village.  I felt purpose as I directed myself to this place.  The explanation was clear: she must be of another world to have survived this long, unchanged.  
  
None of the Norsemen dared step foot on her island.  Besides being beautiful, with hair stark white as snow, she was also mute and angry.  They had entreated me not to leave.  She threatened fishermen who even ventured an approach to the shoreline.  One large bow, a few very sharp arrows, and an aim without compare, she had left her mark on more than one boat hull.  They had no quarrel with one who preferred only her own company.  As a result, she had become legend.  
  
There was no honor in battle with one woman, they countered.  Especially when victory was not assured.  They weren’t going to let this go, so I pulled out a mouth-stopping hint.  “The White Lady is no match for this Odinson.”  I hated to lie, especially calling myself his son, but it made clear my exit.  
  
I had my dagger but left it sheathed.  I was more curious than battle-hungry.  Finally something interesting in Midgard!  Having left Asgard behind to find some meaning for myself, yet here I was, seeking it out again.  She must be Asgardian.  She didn’t talk?  Rubbish.  I would make her talk -- my tongue was not dubbed silver for nothing.  Assuredly, she did not speak with the Norse.  They were little better than animals at reasoning; I could understand.  After so many eons, I am sure she wanted to converse with an equal.  Who else but me?


	5. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki meets "The White Lady."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine this fic to be set on a Viking settlement in Greenland (which is beautiful by the way.) However, her house I based on a picture online of “L’Anse aux Meadows” which was actually a Viking settlement in Newfoundland. It’s pretty sweet-looking. Also I mention the phenomena of the midnight sun, something that occurs in and around the Arctic Circle.
> 
> Until I state otherwise, that is where the action of these chapters occurs.

* * *

This area of the planet was strange.  Though I had spent quite a long time there before I ventured to the island, the sun only approached the horizon very late at night. The Norse seemed acclimated to it, and had normal sleep and wake cycles, though they occurred while the sun remained mostly in the sky. I did not sleep much regardless of what realm I was in, owing mostly to my restless nature in those times, I suppose.  
  
The currents were promising, resulting in very little rowing on my part. It was as if the arrival to the island had been foretold, or predestined. I shall have to thank the Norns for this guidance. Though once I arrived, I did not encounter the Lady as soon as I had hoped.  
  
When compared to the rest of their planet, in this area the plant life was sparse, mostly moss, low-hanging shrubs, and wildflowers. It was lush, being summer, but I found it strange to have no barriers of forests blocking my view of the mountains in the distance.  
  
For this moment in time I set myself upon the landscape as an explorer, an outdoorsman; I prefer enclosed spaces, for the most part, but this was a novelty I would enjoy fully, if only for the experience of something so different. The island seemed large as islands go, the coastline disappearing into the distance; it extended beyond the horizon.  
  
I made my way further inland, looking behind to see my boat and the coast grow tinier behind me. The more distance I put between myself and the Norse, the better I felt. Solitude renews me, as does being away from anyone for whom I must put on a persona.  
  
I made it within sight of her residence a few miles in, nothing of note happening in-between except encountering an innocent-looking hare, who did not pause in his munching of some vegetation to view me. Remembering it now, I know it was nothing more than a longhouse made of sod, much like the Norse had made on the mainland. But something in my breast gave me the impression that it was a grand house. It did strike me how it seemed to be a very extension of the earth around it, no windows and late summer wildflowers standing out on the grass that covered the sod roof.  
  
I did not dare approach the house at first glance. Instead, I gave the house a wide berth, finding a nearby stream for some refreshment. I had assumed she would be at home, but I was wrong. Admiring the house as I was, it was not until an arrow landed at my feet, neatly aimed to land in the earth several inches away from my foot, that I noticed she had been hunting.  
  
This was how I met Sigrid. Knelt at the stream. Imagine that - I, kneeling! Kneeling before her. But so it was.  
  
Her foot was as swift as her arrow. I soon found an arrow aimed squarely at my heart, the archer conveniently out of range for a dagger attack. It was then that I discovered she was NOT mute. Her voice, raspy from disuse, barked out a threat of death. “State what business have you here or I shall end it.” I shall never forget her cold blue eyes echoing the menace of her words. It was a fierce stare, coupled with a furrowed brow and furious eyebrows. If it were directed in one's direction, it could make a grown man’s blood run cold; yes, even a Norseman’s.  
  
Leave it to me to be clever when faced with certain annihilation, but all I could think of to say was, “What a well-crafted arrow you have there. Certainly you must tell me...Who is your fletcher?” I stood. I do things like this in the face of danger. If I was to die, at least it was in the face of someone interesting.  
  
“Are you a fool?!” She brought the bow up and pulled back, letting one of her well-crafted arrows fly promptly to my location. It halted an inch from my face as I grabbed it.

I kept it in my hand as I bowed to her: courtly manners had their place in Midgard as well. “I am Loki of Asgard. My business here is to make your acquaintance. Now....your fletcher?” My habit in the face of danger is also to prove myself incredibly quick-witted.  
  
The savage, animalistic scowl dropped instantly. She must have truly thought I was mad, for I began to smile. The grip on the bow loosened and the weapon dropped, held at her side. The tenseness in her face relaxed. This may have been her first surprise in many years. My behavior -- and failure to die -- left her dumbfounded. “I craft my own,” she sighed. A flash of curiosity brought her eyes to meet mine for the first time, rather than stay directed at my vital organs, but as soon as they had locked on with mine, they left. She had eased from her defensive position somewhat; had I wanted to kill her, the earth would already be soaking up the red remnants of her existence. Of this she seemed sure.  
  
“Asgard?”

  
“You know it?”  
  
She was still. “I do and I do not.” Making a step towards me, her volume decreased before she entreated, “Tell me how you know it. Are you kin of Odin?”  
  
Knowing I was not, but not yet completely consumed with hate for him, I spoke one of the few truths I knew -- “I was raised with his son.”  
  
Sharp arrowhead no longer promising death, she did not look so frightening. In fact, if I was to choose any word to describe her out of attack mode, it would be...small. Less in stature than even Lady Sif -- this made her quite small indeed. It was laughable, actually, for the Norse spoke of her as if she were ten feet tall. Reality? When stretched to her full height, her head did not quite reach my chest. She has always been small yet mighty.  
  
The long moments she took to consider her next move left me to consider her, something I would do much of in our time together. Despite spending most of her time in the outdoors, her skin was pale, smooth and without wrinkles or spots. No longer did her cheeks have the plumpness of a child, so she was in her late youth. She wore the apparel so common to her tribesmen’s wives, a sleeveless dress reminiscent of an apron of a faded blue over a wool gown with long straight sleeves, with a tunic of linen showing from underneath that. The bronze brooches attaching the straps to the were not as ornate as those of her kinswomen, and she had no beads whatsoever.  She did have a pouch hanging off her belt. In general, her appearance implied utility, not ornamentation. She moved swiftly and easily despite her apparel.  
  
I found her most striking feature to be her hair, so really, she was rightly called “The White Lady.” It was unnaturally blonde, to the point it was the color of a cloud. It was blinding if it caught the sunlight at a particular angle. She had it pulled back so that she might have un-obscured vision and freedom of movement.  
  
Mind you, I still attended court at this time, and for the sake of my mother, groomed my hair vainly and cut it short. My demeanor was overly formal. From her countenance, the idea of vanity and decorum must be laughable; her threatening expression had turned to amusement at my mannerisms. My madness had been confirmed. I cannot say that she was not correct.  
  
Action decided, she retrieved several animal carcasses from a sack on her back, kin of the one I had seen on my journey to this place. “Does Loki of Asgard eat stew of rabbit?” She assumed avoiding certain death roused up an appetite. To be honest, it did. The Norse had filled me with mead and stew the night before, but it felt as though I had not eaten for a week.  
  
“I am sorry to say I have not partaken of that particular Midgardian specialty...but there’s a first time for all things. Perhaps I can exchange stories with you...I hope that those I may tell are worth a bowl, and my intrusion into your time.” My response was a noncommittal movement of her shoulders.  
  
Little did I know, this acceptance of her invitation was to lead to an acquaintance that would change us both. This little woman still haunts my dreams. I am bringing her from Midgard to bring her to sit next to this throne. No one else, in any of the nine realms, has ever been more deserving of that place. None forever after shall ever hold that place.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know about you, but the scene from “Avengers” where Loki catches the arrow was pretty awesome. Also, have you read Norse mythology? It is awesome. The Norns were essentially the Norse version of the three fates, though your destiny was not as unchangeable as with the Greek Fates.
> 
> Also, Viking women were actually respected and allowed a lot of freedoms. My character is kind of a rebel, carrying weapons, living apart and providing for herself. I am contributing this to her having no living male relatives and just living apart for so long.
> 
> I love the word fletcher, don't you? (fletcher: one who crafts arrows).
> 
> Lastly -- I shall forever love sassy!Loki. I felt that he is just the type that would do something like he did when almost shot by an arrow.


	6. A Bit of Rabbit Stew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> exactly what the title implies. Sit down and have some stew!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this part is especially easy to understand if you saw the episode of Agents of S.H.E.I.L.D. named "the Well."
> 
> Have you had rabbit before? I did when I was studying abroad in Spain. It wasn't bad, but I am not going to rush out and order it somewhere. I think it may have been better if it had been in a stew.

For the first time since I had reached Midgard, I smiled a smile which possessed me entirely. This was comical. Rather than limp back to the rest of the settlement with several arrow holes in me as they expected, I was welcomed into a home that I was sure none had ever seen, save those who constructed it. I imagined the gloating I would relish in when I returned. The frightening White Lady of the Island, unarmed, now shuffled around her cooking area. The morning had been a bit chilly; she stoked what had been smoldering coals, coaxing them to life.  The smoke rose and left the building through a conveniently placed ventilation hole in the ceiling.  
  
As she cooked, I surveyed the humble abode with interest. There was but one chair, which she offered me. Quite the hostess for being a hermitess. It must have come from the homeland, for it showed countless repairs. A loom stood in the corner, with a half-finished sheath of fabric on it. There was no decor....just the bare walls. The home held none of the decorations or gaudiness of Asgard, but I was instantly warmed to the bone. Not that cold ever bothered me.  
  
I turned my attention then to the woman herself. She seemed to live a very simple life. The life in the village would not suit her. She was as comfortable on her own as myself.  Perhaps more so.  She was at least more successful at it.  
  
While she cooked, she hummed, and we spent the time it took to make the stew in silence -- not uncomfortable, mind you, as she seemed one of few words.  Her effort was better used for other purposes.  I did not recognize the tune.  She did not speak as she served me, and she took care not to meet my eyes as she carefully placed first the bowl, then a utensil, in my hands. She looked quite purposefully at the items she had handed me. She then turned away to grab an accompaniment to the meal; I accepted her offer of a hunk of bread from a loaf she had from the day before. It was slightly stale, but that made better to dip into the stew. She remained standing some distance from me, serving herself and beginning to eat.  
  
Asgard’s kitchens had produced the finest banquets the universe has known; yet this felt the grandest feast I had ever swallowed. I considered conjuring some mead from the Norsemen so close by, but after seeing her reaction at my catching of her arrow, I felt it would frighten her and promptly end my visit if I were to take that course of action.  
  
Eating slowly, pensively, she looked up at me after a few spoonfuls. “So. You come from Asgard?”  
  
Waiting until I had swallowed to speak, and putting down my utensil for conversation (courtly manners still counted, at least then) -- “Yes, I grew up there.” I would not reveal my true parentage to her until much later.  
  
“Tell me of it.”  
  
I had a twinge of homesickness as I described the palace and the surrounding lands. It was Mother, mostly, who I thought of when I described these places. Her favorite place to watch the stars from, where she had read to me.  Nothing in the rooms themselves had any importance to me; it was the times I had spent in them and with whom I had spent them.  
  
She had knowledge of the realm secondhand, but eagerly listened in silence until I described the great bridge Bifrost. “Came you by this magical conveyance?”  
  
I put down my spoon. “No.” Her expression changed, as talking with someone for the first time in hundreds of years had piqued her curiosity. Shyness or fear kept it from being placed into many words, but it was plainly visible on her face. She had spoke no more though she seemed eager to ask for elaboration.  
  
It was at this point that I turned the tables. “And what of you, O Fearsome White Lady of the Island?” I smirked again. Her first very tiny hint of smile is an image burnt forever in my memory, though it was fleeting. She held some great pride in making herself, in reality so little, seem so imposing a figure, and going around smiling was not going to help her keep her reputation. “How old are you, really?”  
  
“Me?” She pretended to busy herself with cleaning up the cooking area.  
  
“Or were your ancestors all identical to you in every way, thought, word, deed...everything?”  
  
She seemed to feel most comfortable speaking while the rest of her body busied itself with something else. “I do not track the years...just the seasons...the constant sun for a while, then the darkness which seems never-ending.”  
  
“You are older than you seem.”  
  
“If I am to remember correctly, when I was a child I encountered a Christian missionary. In speaking with those with whom I lived he mentioned that it was ‘the year of our Lord 1222’ -- so yes, I am much older than I seem.”  
  
“Those with whom you lived? You didn’t live with your parents?”  
  
The defeated way her shoulders slumped at this question showed that this was definitely a sore spot. I stood and in the same manner as at the stream, my courtly side showed through. Bowing -- “My apologies, I did not mean to offend you, when you were so kind as to share the food you worked so hard to hunt and prepare. I will rephrase. Let me be brief -- are you Asgardian?”  
  
“I don’t know much, but at least that my father is. Wherever he is.”  
  
It was later, when she suggested that we enjoy more of the sunlight, that she elaborated on this. She felt at home out of doors, the sky her ceiling and the ground her floor. Her father had been a Berserker who had stayed behind on Earth when the rest of his group returned to Asgard. He had been fascinated by Midgard, and in particular by a young Midgardian maiden.  She was the result of that union.  
  
The longest time her father had been in her life was the short time after he conceived her but didn't know of her existence. The maiden’s parents knew who her father was, and did not want the violence that so dominated his life to have any part in their daughter’s. He fled, and she had been born. Her mother and grandmother had raised her to childhood, abandoning her to the elements when she started showing traits of her father: increased strength, endurance, and healing powers. She would surely seem a witch or a conjurer to those around her, and by connection her family itself was in danger. She had no memory of them beyond this.  
  
Since then she had made it through the world for herself. Various kind persons took her in, fed and clothed her, but none lasted very long in her life.

* * *

Asgard and those who inhabit it is a place of action. It is only recently that I have put into action the plans which the centuries have given me to develop. I am much more of a dreamer, a waiter, a planner more than an actor. Her life was defined by the actions she had taken. I admired her then, admire her still, for being able to survive.  I cannot say I would do as well under the same circumstances.  
  
She always told me afterwards that what most intrigued her about me in those first days we knew one another was that she sensed in me a differentness. From these mortals, of course, but also to what she had experienced of Asgard.  
  
“Why would you come to this realm if Asgard held so many wonders?”  
  
“Not to defeat it, surely. I have no taste for war.” (You must remember this was when I was young.) “And even the fierce Norsemen would prove no match, though they be frightened by a little woman with a bow.”  
  
Desire to know more made her ignore what might have been taken for a slight. “For what, then, did you come?”  
  
“Curiosity.”  
  
Our first meeting ended quickly after the meal and the story had ended, but not before an interesting question. I had realized that all this time I was speaking to her, she had not revealed what I was to call her. “Do you happen to have a name, O Lady of the Island?”  
  
“I can’t remember having one, though I surely do possess one.  And no one has ever asked me.”  
  
“What would you name yourself, given the chance...?”  
  
She spent a long moment in thought before nodding. “When we came from the Old World, I was befriended by a young woman. She unfortunately passed away before we ever sighted land, but she made an impression on me.”  
  
“What was she called?”  
  
“Sigrid.”  
  
I took my leave. “It is a pleasure to meet you and eat your rabbit stew, Lady Sigrid of the White Hair.” I nodded agreeably, adding, “and to not die by your hand.”  
  
What she said next surprised me -- “Next time you may not be paying attention.” The smile and reddened cheeks revealed it: a joke. The woman who had not spoken in decades just made a joke. A very clever one, at that.  
  
She may not have had company in many years, but I have my charms. I am a very gracious guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did Viking clothes justice. There are actually a lot of re-enacters who try to make period-appropriate clothing. Thank you Pinterest. Do you like these details? Am I just majorly nerding out?
> 
> Also -- Sigrid /ˈsiːɡrɪd/ is a Scandinavian given name for women from Old Norse Sigríðr, meaning "victory", "wisdom", and "beautiful"


	7. Hermits United

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> do you get the reference? *winky face*

* * *

The trip inland to meet the White Lady was short in comparison to the return trip.  Purpose had bloomed in my chest on the initial trip; while I had accomplished what I set out to do, the pride that had been expected to be there was not.  The best comparison I can make would be when one expects to possess a treasure but actually receives just a few coins.  As I am so wont to do, I spent the time alone to stew in my thoughts, to play out the various scenarios of how I could have acted.  
  
I am ever the consummate actor, so as the Norse welcomed me back I gave them the story of a lifetime.  Never the truth, mind you; “I barely escaped with my blood un-spilled” or some variety thereof came from my mouth.  Never were they to know the truth of their perceived enemy.  That would have broken their hearts.  And Odin's people do not handle wounded pride very well.  They would remain ignorant.  
  
I could have just left it at that, made my leave of the village and the realm, but something kept me from taking this course of action.  I spent a few more days with those in the village, enjoyed my farewell celebration, bid them goodbye, and left; assuredly, I had returned back to Asgard to give a status report to Odin on how his worshippers were.  
  
Somehow, my whole self found itself in a boat back on the way to the island.  To this day I feel as if my steps were not my own; my feet seemed to move of their own accord, as if they had made this trip countless times.  
  
What brought me to this place at first, I knew full well...what was it that made me stay?  I am confident when I say all these years hereafter that it was her.  
  
Lady Sigrid of the White Hair was just as shocked at my return as I was myself.  I knew from the shock in her eyes she had not counted on having her first visitor make a return visit so soon.  “Did you forget something?”  Her eyes began sweeping 'round the house, for anything out of place, anything grand and Asgardian.  No.  There was nothing.  Not a speck of dirt out of place.  All the dirt was where it should be.  
  
“No, I did not.”  I did not enter the home, but rested my hand against the doorframe to my right, my other arm curled behind my back.  I had let the stiff formality drop. The woman might not have known me from anyone else, but her presence awakened in me a comfort which I had seldom experienced before.  
  
“Oh.”  Any company whatsoever had her at a loss for what to do, what to say.  There was something about this woman that told me the mystery had not yet been solved.  Leaving now, I would have always wondered what became of her, of how she really was.  Our eyes met for a moment before she averted hers again, obviously equally curious towards me but still distrustful.  It was the longest gaze to which I had been treated.  The whiteness of her hair made her blue eyes stand out, much like an item dropped on the snow would be very obvious to an observer should they see it before it is covered by the flakes.  These eyes were large and expressive, in spite of her earned reputation as a frightening, indifferent figure.  
  
Since then it has not been a major priority of mine to gain the trust of others but for my own purposes.  But I had a genuine desire for this woman not to fear me.  How to make this occur?  “Let me make you a wager.  I will stay away from here and visit you once a week for a month to prove myself trustworthy.  Should you still feel animosity towards me and feel my visit has brought nothing but ruin upon you, I shall return from whence I came without another word and you shall receive of me a quiver of the finest arrows of Europe.  If you do not feel that way, you must promise to teach me why this realm is worthy of my attention and why you remain here.”  
  
“Why I remain here?  Certainly there is no way for me to be taken from it.”  I saw now that all this conversation was tiring for her.  
  
“Perhaps there is an option.”  I had to let her know I meant no harm, as this statement made her eyes widen in something resembling fear (though the White Lady was said to have no fears).  
  
“I do not desire this.”  
  
“And I do not intend to make you do anything of the sort.  But you yourself have choices you can make in order to leave here, if you wish.”  
  
“How do I know you aren’t lying to me and are going to take me prisoner?”  
  
“What will make you believe me?”  
  
“An oath.”  Oh, the Norse and their oaths.  So reminiscent of Asgard.  But yes, this was how to prove myself to her: a formal, traditional declaration.  
  
I retrieved my dagger, a bit embarrassed to be displaying something so tawdry to someone who held no value in such things, or at the very least had never seen something so ornate.  The glint of the blade and the gold of the hilt caught the light from outside so that the weapon itself seemed to be glowing.    
  
Holding it in my left hand, I turned it so that the hilt faced her and the blade towards myself.  Cautiously, hesitantly, she reached out and took it, turning it so that it mirrored how I had handed it to her.  I knelt, placing my hand on top of it in her hand.  
  
Though I found it very funny that two times in two days I found myself knelt before her, I knew how seriously the Norse (and those of Asgard) regarded such an oath.  “I, Loki, come from Asgard, son of Odin and Frigga, do I swear unto you that I shall treat this realm and your company as that of one of my kinsmen, bringing no harm unto you and your property.  In return for your hospitality I shall protect the isolation of this place and the autonomy you exercise here.  This I swear on punishment of death or banishment eternal from this realm.”  
  
Though many of this realm would have been impressed by my flowery words, Sigrid was not.  As I rose to my feet, she nodded that she accepted my oath, and gave me back my dagger to sheathe, and asked, “Son of Odin?”  She has forever been straightforward in her dealings with me.  I regret not being equally so in these first days we spent together.  But it was a long and convoluted story.  There would be time for it in the future.  
  
“As I said, I was raised with his son.”  
  
This answer seemed sufficient.  I was to return in a few days time for the first of several days in which we sought to prove ourselves worthy of one another’s company.  Though if her expression told me anything, it was that I had made a very good start of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call the Vikings the Norse in this story, as this is the term I feel they would use to describe themselves.
> 
> And the reference of the title? It was a Doctor Who reference by the way, from the episode "Utopia" during David Tennant's run.
> 
> Professor Yana: A hermit, with friends?  
> 10th Doctor: Hermits united. We meet up every ten years, swap stories about caves. It's good fun, for a hermit.
> 
> A billion points to whatever Hogwarts house you belong to if you knew this before getting to these notes.
> 
> Oh and if you are wondering, I would say Loki is a Slytherin and that Sigrid is a Hufflepuff. That ought to tell you enough about them.


	8. The Wager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I consider you, reader, another one of the hermits united from the previous chapter. Explore Sig's land along with the other two.

* * *

 

I had secured permission to visit her again. But what I was to say to the Norse to let them allow me to stay?  I had nearly overstayed the customary three days for a houseguest.  Surely a Prince of Asgard was an exception?    
  
Were there the need, I could always make my own shelter and fend for myself much as the White Lady did.  I did not eat all that often, and surely my hosts would not let me leave empty-handed as far as provisions went if I simply asked.  
  
My fears were unfounded; the Norse had enjoyed my stories and were rather sorrowful that they had only been given the honor of a few nights of them.  They would very willingly keep me for an extended period of time, as it honored them to be visited by a son of Odin.  Really, for all their boasting, they really were really quite harmless, at least to me.  Were I to incur their wrath, I had a dagger and magic to soon take me from danger.  
  
Still, all those days of accompanying my father’s people in their daily lives did not make that much of an impression on me.  My thoughts instead always returned to one thing - or one someone, I suppose.  The Norse were easy to understand: bravery, feasting, and mead.  The men forgave my weak and clean-shaven appearance in light of my genealogy, the women found interest in my uniqueness and pleasure in my descriptions of Odin’s realm (especially that of Asgardian women in their finery).  The children were really just children.  They could care less who visited them.  They took amusement in my more epic stories where Odin or one of his kin encountered magnificent creatures, but could not be bothered to listen much longer past the slaying of the beast.  They amused me; in retrospect, I can see in them myself during all of those happy years growing up with Thor.  Oh to return to those times, when the worst of one’s worries was that playtime would end.

* * *

On the appointed day, I made my way to her island.  This trip was not so easy, I was not so proud as before.  To steady myself I clasped my hands behind me as I walked to the middle of the island where her house stood.  I had adhered to the traditions of her people in giving my oath, but perhaps she would not be so hospitable.  
  
That first day, I was a silent shadow behind her.  Choosing my words carefully, I tried not to overwhelm her as I had with my extended discourse at our first meeting. Sigrid took me about her normal day, from her home to the cave where she grew mushrooms, her favorite place from which to view the island, to the best place from which to shoot her dinner.  At the last, she asked whether I had any experience with archery; upon my negative response, she guided me through how to best shoot a small animal from 60 meters away.  The discussion also brought up how to best make your arrow hit it’s mark; the secret was to hold your breath and only release it once your arrow was in flight.  Your heartbeat would betray you and you might not eat that day; better to quiet it than risk going hungry.  
  
The day flew as did her arrows, and though my attempt at hunting did not result in a hit target, she was a patient teacher.  With a shrug, she suggested what I needed was practice and a much taller bow.  She had made hers for a short woman, not a man of my height.  
  
Her eyes did not avoid looking my direction as much, though one could tell she had experienced little interaction with others over the years.  This resulted in several awkward periods of silence, after which I directed the conversation towards a subject about which she was comfortable with.  Really, I mentioned anything in which she showed an interest.    
  
I took my leave in the evening, as the sun which hung so long in the sky finally began a downward course.  The drop in formality made her much more comfortable, but old habits die hard.  I bowed as a farewell.  
  
From a shaky start in the morning, the day had become more comfortable; doing things on her own terms, in the usual way, with only a quiet observer to alter the day from any other.  For my own part, there was the promise of the next meeting.

* * *

Our next meeting focused more on the flora and fauna of the area.  In order to see said fauna, there was the matter of tracking the animals, determining the direction of the wind, and waiting covertly, upwind from where the animal could be -- all very involved processes.  Sigrid at this time was in her element.  A focused and determined tracker, her sense of purpose was palpable.  
  
Once we were “on the hunt” as it were, she did not speak but communicated with simple hand signs.  “Wait” -- palm facing me.  “Crouch down” -- palm motioned downward.  “Come this way” -- two fingers wagged towards herself.  
  
It had been several hours of this when we happened upon a herd of some beasts that shared her island.  Or, that is to say, they came to us.  I do not have much taste for the outdoors, but something about watching another who was at home in it made me have a different appreciation for it.  We observed them from behind a rocky outcropping, half standing half crouching.  Nevermind the strange position; her purpose was my purpose, and the results were walking towards us in a small herd of ten or more.  For one, as they approached I heard a repetitive clicking, in time with the beasts’ movement.  My curious look led my companion to tap my shoulder, and once she had my attention, she indicated her own knee.  Hmm.  Clicking knees.  That could prove helpful to a predator.  Or a hunter for that matter.  What was this, I was thinking like a hunter now.  The woman would never let me forget it did I reveal it.  
  
The beasts were rather small compared to what I had been expecting, with white fur and antlers of a smaller size than the grand ones the Norse had hanging in their dwellings.  That evening she revealed to me that both males and females possessed antlers, but that in the spring they lost them and began to grow new ones.  They stamped along, busily munching the vegetation and paying no mind the two humans several yards away.  Strange creatures, much like the Midgardians themselves.  Eat and drink and pay no mind to anything else, though it may destroy you.  There are times I envy such creatures.  
  
After this, she no longer acted as cautiously, since she did not have to track anything more today.  For my part I simply followed as I had the previous meeting.  I was to see wonders, and she was the one who knew where they were located.  I smelled the change in scenery before we actually saw the coast.  A breeze had come up, and my nostrils were assaulted by an extremely salty, fresh burst of air.

I had made my approach from the Norse settlement East to the island, and she now took me in that direction to the furthest limit of her land, which was bordered there by the sea.  A rocky coastline ran for several miles. It was not so green here; one had to place steps carefully so as not to slip.  Only when she herself stopped did I know to see where she was looking.  Pointing about as far as she could accurately shoot an arrow, we could make out grayish shapes.  One was much larger than the other, and when I saw air and water shoot into the air, I knew it was a sea creature.  Whales, they are called now.  Sigrid murmured, “Rorqual.”  A smaller spout of water burst forth.  “with it’s young.”  Having leaned up on her toes to point to me, she settled back onto the ground and I swear I saw her smile.  
  
“Wonders, eh?”  The smile fled.  
  
“Yes.  Wonderful enough?” Though selectively mute, this lady knew how to best use her words for the ultimate effect.  
  
“I do think so, Island Lady."  
  
One would not think that a full four days could be spent exploring a small island, but the mistress of the land found new things to show me each time.  Where herbs or berries could be found, how to find your way if you were lost (moss always grows on the north side of a shrub’s bark), how to skin and butcher one’s dinner, and how one would build the fire that would make one’s dinner edible.  They were things she did now, had done for a long time, to survive.  Nevermind that a Prince of Asgard would never need to know this when back in my home realm.  It was good to know should I ever need to fend for myself.  
  
In our subsequent meetings, the unease between us had lifted somewhat.  I had spent many silent hours with her, simply observing her life.  It was actually very peaceful, a time I think of now when the world or my head is full of chaos.  She is ever present in those scenes, though she not be present physically with me.  
  
At the end of the last of these meetings, her time actively showing me about had ended.  We simply existed in the same space for a while.  But I could not bring myself to leave.  On a rock near a large pond on the northern side of the island, we took a seat next to one another.  That is, several feet from one another, facing the same direction.  Grabbing a stone from at my feet, I examined it, turning it over in my hand, rubbing it as if a talisman.  Anything to keep me from embarrassing her by looking at her as I so wished.  Even when it was expected that I would be looking towards her, red washed her cheeks when she realized it.  It was not so much that I showed a danger to her; it was that I showed an interest in her.  If social interaction of any kind was unfamiliar to her, being found interesting was completely alien.  
  
In the longest conversation we had since our first meeting, I asked the obvious question, “So, what do you say to my wager?  Has your roof caved in, your vegetation rotted, et cetera?”  
  
“It has not.”  Her own stone was quickly thrown sideways along the pond and it skipped several times before dropping into the water.  
  
“Have I brought ruin upon you?”  
  
“No, you have not.”  Her eyes no longer lingered on the ground or off to the side.  They faced me, fearless as at our first meeting but no longer so defensive.  The wind blew a stray lock of white hair into her face and she soon returned it to its rightful place.  
  
“I thank you for the opportunity to see what life in this place is like.  I feel as if I could almost survive if I were abandoned alone upon the tundra.”  
  
“Almost.”  
  
"Yes, just almost."  This woman made me laugh.  We were more alike than she knew.  “May I ask something of you now?”  
  
Her fearlessness quavered for a moment.  “Yes?”  
  
I dropped the rock and looked at her straight on.  “Will you give me a better idea of why you stay here?  I know the how, and I know it is a life which comforts you greatly.  I see the peacefulness of it.  But why do you live apart from those who brought you here?  Those who helped you build your dwelling?  Why let them forget you and relegate you to the realm of legend?  Besides the obvious boost of one’s feeling of self worth.”  
  
She took a long moment; her brow furrowed, and she averted her gaze from mine.  That was a lot for her to process; so much so that she missed my attempt at humor.  I know now that she is intellectually capable of answering these questions; it was simply that she had never been asked to examine these things for herself and report her findings to another.  This series of questions had troubled her into stunned silence.  Noticing this, I cleared my throat.  “Let me say it another way.  You do not have to have an answer.  I would like a chance to know you.  May I remain for a while, with you?  You may banish me at any time.  You have my word,” I patted the hilt of my dagger at my thigh to remind her of my sincerity.  
  
The troubled lines in her forehead and the eyes beneath them softened a bit.  “And you will never come back?”  
  
“I swear.”  With one hand held up, the other on my heart, the moment began to feel too heavy. “You may shoot a flurry of arrows at me as I leave and I will not make an attempt to catch them.”  
  
At present a sparkle of mischief came across her features. For one whom others saw as one to avoid, she had shown her emotional range contained much more than her reputation as a furious murderess.  She has since told me that the mischief that overcame her features was not a result of the desire for my murder, just that I had suggested it so she could place her arrows carefully and make several well-placed rips in my clothing.  
  
My own eyes reflected the same playful attitude.  “I look forward to acting in a way which does not get me any holes in my body.  
  
“You’d better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI those were reindeer they saw -- it is one of my headcanons that Loki knew what Stark was calling him in the first Avengers film.
> 
> Also, the word she uses for whales was actually used by Vikings in that way. They liked eating them. Nevermind...now I am imagining Thor in front of a table with a large whale on it, with his knife and fork in hand. No, Thor, whales are our friends. Put it back.


	9. Melting the Ice Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curiosity causes Sig to venture out of her comfort zone

* * *

I did not stay continuously on the island, but visited my White Lady a bit more often; twice in one week, twice in another, and then thrice.  I contributed to the Norse settlement by offering my literacy to help put contracts between citizens into words on paper.  To see Sigrid I excused myself every so often on an errand (on behalf of my liege of course).  After a few of these errands, they stopped asking where I was going when I borrowed a boat.    
  
Before long my hosts in the village saw very little of me, and I felt myself a regular outdoorsman.  She did not guide me as before, but went about her daily business, trusting me not to get in her way or to scare away her quarry.  She did not talk much more than in our previous meetings, but responded to my questions; I answered my own in turn.  Offering words unprompted was more than I could have expected.  
  
It was after several lively stories about goings on in the village that Sigrid herself suggested a visit there.  Not that they would know she was there, mind you.  They would be her prey, much like the hares or birds she sought for their fur and meat.  Only rather than gaining food she would gain information.  I was to meet her at the shore with the boat when the sun had waned, and we would continue on and see how her kinsmen existed. When I asked her how long it had been since she had interacted with them, she was uncharacteristically ashamed.  “At least a hundred years.”  
  
She looked so embarrassed that I felt it necessary to calm her.  “No shame in that.  I wish sometimes I could spent a century away from some people.”  
  
Strangely reminiscent of the tracking of the antlered ones, the two of us ended up crouched behind something watching a family ready themselves to take to bed.  I tried to hold back my laughter.  I murmured, “I am sure that if these men and women were to know of your presence, they would send a raiding party.”  
  
“That is why it is so important I stay undetected.  Shh.  Honestly, you were quieter for the deer.  I do not know how you have survived at all in this realm.”  
  
I knew this family by seeing them in the great hall for one of the feasts that had been thrown in my honor.  They were rather young: the man had the youthful look of my brother, the woman the bright eyes of Lady Sif.  Nevermind them.  It was the daughter who was the interesting one.  She was six or seven years old.  The girl had sat, attention undivided as I told the story of how my mother came from the old Gods to Asgard, and of her grand golden chariot, pulled by felines.  Few of her playmates found it as enthralling as she.  
  
Though it was very late by their standards, the girl was following her father around asking him questions.  “Take to your bed, young one,” he warned.  
  
“Soon.  I must get a drink first and then I shall.”  
  
“Just one,” the mother admonished.  This seemed to be a routine for the trio.  What a smart child.  
  
It was then that the two eavesdroppers realized where the store of food and drink was -- it was the shelter behind which we were hiding.  I cursed on Odin’s missing eye as we flattened ourselves onto the ground, then held my breath.  It was not until the girl turned around, her parents having already retired inside, that I released it.  
  
We stood up a bit prematurely when the girl was halfway to the dwelling; the cluttering caught her attention.  She turned and let out an exclamation of surprise.  The look in her eyes and that of the figure her parents so feared (not me of course) were identical.  
  
“Go to sleep,” I entreated in a hushed tone, putting a finger to my lips to direct her to keep silence regarding this.  
  
The girl nodded, smiling at me quickly before she turned around and continued on her way inside.  
  
“What was that, daughter mine?” the mother called.  
  
“Nothing.  Just the wind.”  
  
The only time that the White Lady moved as fast as she did then was when she was shooting an arrow at a moving target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the Norse mythology buffs among you will correct me and say that Freyja is the goddess with the carriage pulled by cats, not Frigga. You know, Marvel messed enough with Loki and changed him for these movies, for creativity's sake let's just let Frigga have a cat-drawn carriage in this story.


	10. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch-ch-changes!

* * *

At some point, I cannot remember when, I simply stopped returning to the village at all.  Neither one of us explicitly mentioned it to the other or asked for an invitation; I simply remained.  The days simply began to bleed together, the routine of one day followed by that of the next.  
  
I do remember, however, the reaction of my hostess to the suggestion that I sleep on one of the benches that lined the wall farthest from the entrance. No, she was a proper Norse host.  None of that foolishness. Though a humble bed, her guest was the one who must occupy it.  Straw covered with animal skin, her bow hanging above it, it was the best she had.  And a guest must have the best.  All this she communicated through a quick, determined shake of her head to my suggestion.  This woman was a master communicator, or at least at communicating with the fewest amount of words.  
  
I did sleep, and in these days it was a long and uninterrupted sleep.  It was peaceful, with no nightmares plaguing me about the reaction to my long absence from Asgard from Odin, from Mother...it was in the waking hours I examined those thoughts.  
  
In half-slumber the first few nights, forgetting what realm I was in, I blinked and looked at the room around me, raising my head off the bed.  My mind was troubled that the familiar scenes of my life in Asgard did not welcome me.  This was not my grand room in the Asgardian palace.  The ceiling was too close.  The bed was rough.  Instead, I found myself in a small sod hut, and at the fire a short woman was sitting on a chair, hands busily moving; she must have been sewing or mending a shoe.  But these thoughts were not troubling enough for me to remain awake.  
  
I honestly do not know when she slumbered.  Even the strongest Asgardian took a rest when day was done or when they had accomplished grand deeds.  But she has never been a typical dweller of any realm.  
  
It was some time later, as I tried to shape a branch into a bow-like shape so that I might improve my hunting (with little success) that she spoke. "You talk in your sleep, you know.”  She was weaving on a loom she had in one corner of her home.  
  
My mission was not going in any useful direction so I paused, brushing some wood shavings off my knee.  “Yes?  What have I been saying?”  
  
“Something about your brother, I could not quite make it out.”  Her shuttle continued weaving expertly to and fro.  She was making a simple piece of linen cloth, no ornamentation needed, so the job was simple.  Still, it boggled the mind how focused one had to be in order to weave and speak at the same time.  But if Sig was anything, it was focused.  Her concentration was enviable.  
  
“Well, yes, it has been quite some time since I have seen him.  Two months now, perhaps?”  She looked over at me, nodding.  “I have never gone this long away from my home.  And he has been at my side since we were very young.  I would think I would be talking about or to him.”  
  
I revealed more about Thor and how we interacted over these days, and Sig revealed more about herself.  Not always in words, but often in how her face reacted.  I asked if she had ever sought out her father.  Her brow furrowed and her eyes clouded with something like blind Berserker rage.  I asked of her mother.  Her eyes welled up and she walked away.  I no longer asked of these things.  If there is anyone who understands the difficulty of emotions like these, it is I.  On some level we identified with one another, as different as we may have been.  
  
The air grew brisk and the green of the land began to fade.  The threat of winter was foretold; the sun began to spend less time in the sky, foreboding the everlasting night that was to come.

She had become as commonplace at my side that even going outside alone for some kindling felt strange.  We maintained our distance physically, though she felt more approachable in conversation and certainly, I no longer feared death by her hand.  (That was, unless I did something deserving of it.)  She was freer with her words, and more generous with her glances.  There was even an occasion or two that I saw a flash of a smile.  She seemed genuinely happy to have some company after so long alone, though she stood quite apart from me at any time that we were not hunting or doing something of a useful purpose.  
  
This changed the day I found the stone.  
  
It is not clear to me now why I had gone to the coast on my own, but among the rocks I had found something astonishing.  In a manner more enthusiastic than was characteristic for me, I had tripped inside, murmuring, “I found something,” as that something rolled towards her.  It was my enthusiasm that was to blame for this clumsiness, but it was something I had not seen in this realm.  
  
Rushing from where she had been standing to retrieve the item, Sig sought my treasure.  I myself had continued to chase it, and all at once we both had our hands on it.  Or that is, we both had hands touching the stone and the other who reached for it.  The touch was electric, sending tingles up my spine.  The hands were softer than they should be; the woman was a huntress, not a courtier.  But her hands and finely kept nails belied her true occupation. 

I waited a long moment to remove my hand from where it touched hers on the rock.  Her cheeks had become as red as the blood of one of her hunting trophies.  When her eyes went from the stone and our hands to meet mine, she quickly returned her hands to her sides as if burnt and stood.  
  
“What is it?”  Surely conversation about this item would keep discussion of what just happened from ever occurring.  Later on she has remarked that it was the covetous look in my eyes paired with that touch that had really shaken her.  She had never been looked at like that.  She had no response but to ignore it.  
  
“I am not sure, I thought you might be able to tell me....”  We had touched before by accident on one of our many journeys about the island, but this accidental touch had turned purposeful.  And that was the sort of touch she had not experienced in a long time, perhaps ever, minus maybe a mother's caring caress on her child.  I handed her the item.  
  
It was a rock, the size of a small rabbit.  Rough and blackish on one side, on the other it turned a violet, slightly opaque, but still more transparent than rocks should be.  It was the makings of a gemstone.  “Oh yes...I remember these...  She turned it over in her hands as the red slowly faded from her cheeks.  
  
“What is it used for?”  
  
“You cut and polish it, and you can use it to look into the sky and find the sun when the sky is not so clear.  Quite useful.  And keeps you from being blinded.  Even more useful.”  
  
Before I summoned the Chitauri to Midgard, I happened to be moving through a city in Europe late at night and saw something reminiscent of this rock in a jewelry store window.  Iolite, it was called.  It provided me a moment’s repose, remembering that stupid rock, before continuing on my way towards destiny.

* * *

The supernatural had not shown its face since our first meeting and my escaping death by a matter of inches.  It now returned in the strangest way, without any involvement of my own.  I cannot begin to explain how it happened, but I know why.

  
Sigrid, the White Lady of the Island near a Norse colony, hundreds of years old, was not acting so much as her reputation insisted.  For one, she spent time on non-useful tasks such as talking to her houseguest, who had overstayed his traditional welcome weeks before but whom she could not turn out of her house.  She spoke words that had moments, rather than hours, separating them from one another.  Her countenance radiated safety.  She did not hurriedly busy herself while her guest slept, but after a while retired to her own bench to have some rest.  There was even occasion that she slept later in the morning than her guest, wrapped up in a large animal fur, slumbering peacefully.  
  
It was when I was watching her hunt that I first noticed it.  Breaking her concentration, I could not help but speak.  “Sig, your hair.”  
  
She lowered her bow.  This had better be important if it gave the animal the opportunity to get away.  “What of it?  Did I get something in it?  I knew that bird we saw earlier looked up to no good...”  She rubbed her empty hand through it, as if expecting to see an animal’s droppings when she looked at her hand afterwards.  
  
I came into her personal space, gently grabbing the offending strand and pulling it from the rest.  She always wore her hair back loosely, a smallish braid on either side, so it was simply the shock of having her head touched rather than any actual pain that caused her to jump.  “No, look at it,”  I brought it into her view.  There was quite obviously a long strand of gold amidst the white, as if someone had dropped a golden spear into the snow.  
  
“What on Midgard....” she had taken to my style of cursing as well, but this was just due to exposure to my speech patterns.  
  
I found myself examining this head of hair every chance I got, whether the owner was aware of it or not.  I watched her cook, I watched her gather water, I watched her sleep...monitoring the speed of this new color's expansion.  Though it had appeared so suddenly, the gold very gradually overtook the white until not a strand of her colorless coiffure remained.  
  
At the end, she was no longer the White Lady, but the Gold Lady.  Did not have quite the same ring to it; it sounded more like she would welcome visitors and shower them with gold.  I had melted the ice queen, and inside the frigidness was warmth that resembled a burning fire.  It was simply showing itself outwardly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have taken some inspiration for the sleep-talking from my boyfriend, though I do it as well. And strangely enough, after I wrote this chapter, he was visiting his family out of town and woke up in the middle of the night, not sure where he was; just like Loki. Weird.


	11. Contentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conquest of a solitary woman's heart. Look out for relationship advice from Frigga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: nsfw; bdsm; some kinky stuff is going to go down. Buckle your seatbelts. Not exactly explicit per se, but smutty nonetheless. Me likey.

* * *

By the time this had all come to pass, the long sunlight hours of summer had passed, and the nighttime actually lasted longer.  Though many would face the prospect of colder weather with a sad face, the colder it got, the more the fire in her seemed to burn.  She did not frown, but seemed in a jovial mood most days.  She would turn her back to me without taking care to quickly turn around so that I did not trick her.  I had earned her trust, this I knew.  She would smile when something clever had been said, or when she had made a particularly difficult shot with her bow.  She would smile at me.  And it would strike me as deep as if she had sent an arrow right into my chest.  This inferno threatened to consume me whole.  I found myself completely obsessed with this half-Asgardian.  She was a mix of enough of the familiar and unfamiliar to keep me surprised at all times.  What told me she had changed was the fact that she talked.  She had become a regular chatterbox.  
  
It was this Sig, this gold lady, who worked her way into my very bones, where she remains to this day.  
  
My knowledge of courtship was limited to the couples I had observed in the palace, but the one piece of knowledge I truly trusted was from my mother.  “As much as your father and these young men like to boast, my son, it is the woman in a pair who holds the power.  Anyone who acts differently will surely not have a happy wife or happy life.”  She has always been the voice of wisdom inside me; how lucky I am to have accompanied her in my younger years.  
  
With my mother's words in mind, I aspired to wait.  I would pine away forever if she did not show an interest.  I would not force the issue.  If she sent me away, I would go.  She would be the one to determine my fate.  Fortune would have it that the time we had spent together was not in vain, and she did not let me remain out of pure Norse hospitality.  I would be quite a different man if this lady of gold had not shone her warmth on me.  
  
Maybe it was the jotun in me that thanks the cold, or more specifically Njord, for the drop in temperature.  The separation between us was not so spacious as the winds grew bitter.  It was just common sense after all: we stood closer together to conserve heat.  A taller person is a great windbreak for a smaller one.  One of those silences which did not come so often anymore had crept upon us while walking on the beach of the East side of her land.  From the sea blew a sharp breeze, one that shot through us both, blowing her hair back.  Only one of us was affected -- the small, non-frost giant one.  
  
“I should have brought my gloves,” was the excuse she gave.  Turning away from the water, the slightly shivering figure closed the space between us, thrusting her naked fingers into my hand so that mine covered them completely.  
  
No, it was not just the gloves.  Even with gloves on, her hand would end up in mine, til that distance between us was a mere memory.  I took this as the sign I needed and proceeded accordingly.  I encouraged her to occupy my space at each juncture, so that soon the small hands were followed by her head, tucked against my chest, her small, straight back under my arm and the rest of her pressed alongside me.  Had she ever belonged anywhere else?  
  
It was one night at the warm of the fire, muscles relaxed and hunter instincts disengaged, that I made my advance.  
  
“Sig?”  I looked up from the book I had transported to the place, one of my favorites, and closed it, setting it next to myself on the bench.  I had begun doing so, and she had simply accepted it.  Along with the ability to avoid death by impalement by arrow, this skill was just one of my Asgardian powers.  I delighted her with this power when I magicked in a chessboard.  We placed it on one of the benches along her wall, and in the evening hours I taught her how to play.  She had quite enjoyed learning chess, especially when the student excelled the teacher and she won the game.  Frankly I was distracted by other things, but I would never tell her that.  Let her have this victory.  At present, she stared drowsily into the glow from the fire from her chair, legs sprawled under her.  The woman who had shunned any form of interaction with others was legitimately relaxed in the presence of another....alone, inside her home.  Wonders never cease.  
  
“Hmm?”  Her half-lidded eyes found me crossing the room to approach her, stopping in front of her chair.  I bent down, setting myself on my haunches so that I was at her eye level.  
  
“I have stayed here quite a long time.”  
  
I knew the course her thoughts were taking: this Asgardian talked a lot -- maybe this was just one of his segues into another subject.  “Yes, that is true.”  Surely his proximity meant that something important was to be said.  Oh well -- he was pretty and not completely useless, so I had better let him speak.  
  
“May I stay longer?”  My courtly manners had returned; I reached for her right hand with my own and held it firmly.  
  
She yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her opposite hand.  “You know you are welcome to stay as long as you wish, provided I don’t have to shoot my dinner every single day.” This was unprecedented; she treated the request as if it were as commonplace as asking for another serving of dinner.  That was how comfortable she had become with me.  Now to shake things up.  
  
“Sig?”  
  
She was losing patience.  Her relaxed posture straightened.  “Yes, Loki...what?  Go ahead.”  She had never called me by my name before though she knew it as well as she knew the path of the stars through the sky.  Hers came from my mouth nearly every day.  I find that her pronunciation of those two syllables is my favorite in this or any other universe.  
  
“I’m going to kiss you now,” I ventured, squeezing her hand.  
  
She was fully aware now, no longer lulled near to sleep.  “Yes.  Ok, all right.”  I had never seen her eyes so wide as they were now, not even when we had been seen by the young Norse girl on our visit to the village.  Easing my weight up, off my bent legs, I leaned closer to her, and she straightened in the chair to meet my lips with hers.  
  
If our first touch was electric, this embrace was explosive.  She was tense at first when my lips met hers, but instantly melted into me.  Her tightly pursed lips relaxed and she released the sigh of several centuries. The sound of it vibrated her lips against mine, causing me to begin to smile against her and then to start to pull away.  Gasping for breath, her hands quickly found themselves on either side of my face, pulling me back to her and nearly causing Sig, the chair, and myself to fall backward onto the floor.  Her enthusiasm is just as boundless to this day.  I have never complained about this.  
  
It was after this point had been passed that I very firmly insisted that she stop sleeping on the floor, if only for warmth’s sake.   Yes, warmth’s sake, that’s what it was.  One must always do what is best to survive, especially in the Arctic.  It was a matter of life or death.  
  
She had waited centuries already for me to come into her life, so I intended to take my time courting her and go about our business as usual, only with an extra activity or two to take up the time that the ever-lengthening night took away from day business.  Sig had other ideas.  
  
Her small hand had found its home in mine, and she fit so well into the empty space next to me that she occupied it nonstop.  The warmth of a shared bed so comforted her that she even waited one morning to get up and going about her day until the sun was completely risen.  For shame!  The woman she had been would be furious.  The woman she had become would tell that previous self to loosen up.  
  
We slept close to one another, as the bed was not incredibly large.  She did not face me, but let me envelop her in my embrace.  My chest to her back, my breath on her neck, a hand firmly planted on where her waist curved in to define her figure.  I was comfortable with this, and if my sleep had been tranquil before, now it was like death, if only in the good way, that is, that of everlasting peace.  Much as I had become comfortable with her manner and her silence in our previous companionship, I now acquainted myself with her body.  
  
The senses which had not previously been engaged in connection to her were suddenly aware that there was more to her that just what I saw or heard.  For one, she smelled wonderful.  It was hard to describe, really.  Fresh like a sea breeze, but sweetish.  She just exuded a natural aroma that was not at all unpleasant.  So much of this realm actually smelled quite bad -- my trip through Midgard to this place had turned my stomach quite a bit, so that when I arrived at the Norse settlement I had not eaten much in the weeks that I had wandered about.  (This is one area that Sig asserts Midgardians truly misunderstand their history -- the Norse, and by connection herself, were not dirty barbarians.  In fact, they very fastidious about their personal appearances and bathed quite regularly.  But the realm of her birth disappointed her in many ways.)  
  
At such a close distance, her voice took on a different quality.  She spoke with confidence outside of her home, but her murmurings took a purring, timid quality in the half-darkness that preceded falling into slumber.  These things charmed me, but mainly it was just the way she felt that enthralled me.  Just like her hands were softer than I had expected them to be from a life lived outdoors, the rest of her skin was too.  The soft down of the hair of her arm was the same color as her hair on her head had been, so white that it was almost transparent.  Her hair looked different this close up as well.  I noticed there were several shades besides gold in it, depending on how the light hit it.  She never wore it down, though it was often customary of young unmarried Norse girls to do so.  Still, I would touch it, wishing so much to be able to run my hands through it unfettered.  
  
The woman who had at first seemed more savage than her kinsmen had suddenly developed a strong sense of modesty.  All this time I had stayed with her I had slept with only my boots and jacket off.  She herself slept fully clothed, including leaving on her shoes sometimes.  It was easier to flee if need be, she said.  But she would not need to flee.  I tried appealing to her common sense in another way.  “You can’t be comfortable.”  
  
“Comfort is of no import.”  Of course not.  This warrior woman would get along very well with my brother.  
  
To appeal to the hunter in her -- “Maybe, but if you are more comfortable, you will sleep better.  And a hunter who does not get quality sleep does not obtain the desired prey.”  
  
It took some arguing, but finally she conceded that I may have been correct.  She would be willing to take off her outer dress only once the fire had died down, and if I promised not to open my eyes until she was underneath the covers.  She quickly slipped underneath the blanket and curled against me.   It was nice to be able to feel less of the fabric and more of the woman beneath.  It only ignited my desire for more.  
  
I have never considered myself a patient man; logical, yes, thoughtful, yes.  Patient, no.  But this woman, who could go a hundred years without talking, had quickly developed the patience of someone much younger.  
  
She hurried through tasks which she usually took hours to do; when hunting, she settled on a smaller or lower quality animal than she usually would so that we could return to the warmth of the home and of each other’s arms.  The taste of my mouth appealed to her much more than any morsel of food.  If she must eat for sustenance, fine.  But she would eat as quickly as she could so she could move on to more important things.  In those days she seemed a contradiction: a strange mix of chastity and desire.  One evening she would insist on limiting my hands to a certain part of her, the next she was literally straddling me.  The two sides seemed to battle -- which would win?  I did not venture further physically until I was completely sure that it was a step she wanted.  Sig says it was because she threatened me.  Why not both?  
  
On an evening she was particularly voracious, I had annoyed her by intentionally slowing my pace, kissing her slowly, caressing her neck and cheek at a snail’s pace.  It was delicious to make her squirm.  “You are likely to cause me to shoot a hole through you,” she mumbled into my lips.  She clawed at me, as if through sheer will she could remove the clothes she was touching.  It was obvious which side of her was overcoming her.  It had never been a fair fight to begin with.  
  
“Why would that be?”  The only thing more mischievous than doing something like this was to play innocent about it.  I am the master of such things.  It was killing her.  I was enjoying it a little too much.  
  
“You know why.”  She tightened her grip on the back of my neck to the point that her nails began to dig into the skin there.  It was not entirely an unwelcome feeling.  But I have always had somewhat unconventional tastes.  
  
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”  I kissed her roughly, biting her lower lip.  That always drove her crazy.

“Lokiiiiiiiiiii,” she keened; the woman who had not said more than 20 words in several centuries suddenly found her talent in aroused whining.  Was it wrong to find it so adorable?  She made me twitch with excitement.  
  
Irony was wonderful to hear, but this was one sight I had to experience with my eyes as well as my other parts.  I had to see her or I would burst.  I opened my eyes, moving her body gently so that she was under an arm‘s length away from me.  “What?”  
  
“You’ve made me wait long enough.”  Those deep blue pools flooded with desire.  She was such a luscious mess, I had to keep myself from taking her right then and there.  Golden hair slightly unfastened, mouth and hands ravenous for more contact with me.  The porcelain of her skin was flushed and she was panting.  No, that would not be right.  I must go about this in a way that she would never forget it all the days of her existence.  
  
“You will wait.”  
  
“Or what?”  The feigned sorrow in her eyes would not deter me.  
  
“Or you will wait forevermore.”  She made a sound much like a dying animal, but wait she did. “Trust me, you'll be glad I took my time...” and I pulled her body against against me.  
  
My mother may have said let the woman have the power over the relationship overall, but in this situation, albeit reluctantly, Sig relinquished control completely over to me.   She obeyed my every command, for she knew obedience would be rewarded.  At some point, she would get what she wanted.  The wait increased the want.  
  
Gathering my composure, we had separated ourselves from one another, and she sat up, looking at me expectantly.  “Ok.  I am going to ask you to do some things for me.  Can you do that for me?  Do you trust me?” She nodded the affirmative to both questions.  I smoothed my hand through my slightly mussed hair and got to the business at hand.  I began simply: “Stand up.”  She stood.  
  
“Take off your shoes.”  First one, then the other was slipped off each of her feet.  
  
“And your foot coverings.”  They followed the outer layer.  “Put them on the ground over there,” I indicated.  
  
“Take down your hair.” She nearly undid me with this action, but I reminded myself that I must not be hasty.  All in good time.  To see it cascading down in all its golden glory, her hair was all I had expected it to be, and actually longer than I thought it was.  The golden waves reached down to the small of her back.  I drank in the sight for a long moment, licking my lips.  
  
Next? “Unfasten those,” gesturing to the brooches that fastened her outer dress.  I was glad to see it go.  The sheer linen shift underneath teased the presence of the oh so pleasant shape she kept covered.  I examined the satisfying roundness of some places, the taut muscles of others.  In this state, she seemed quite a bit smaller than her already diminished stature.  But she was not weak by any definition of the word, but there was something very endearing in how vulnerable and little she was.  I stood, approaching her.  I still did not touch her.  
  
She stared at me, trying to mask the annoyance in her eyes as I stood to approach her.  “Hold your arms up in the air.”  
  
“Why?”  She sulked like a petulant child.  
  
This was fun.  “So you can take this off, of course.”  I pulled the shift over her head.  Soon enough she was laid bare, trembling in front of me in what I assumed was a mixture of anticipation and chilliness.  Her eyes told me that she began to see why I was going about things in this excruciatingly slow manner.  The annoyance had left her eyes, replaced by what I can only describe as unbridled excitement.  Again, she was an enthusiastic lover.  
  
“Stay there a moment.  Let me look at you."  I grabbed her hand and examined her from the tip of her head down to her petite toes.  Her breasts were small but pert, her stomach taut, and the posterior well-proportioned.  The muscles of her body were not large and exaggerated, but they were quite obviously there.  This was the body of a warrior who had seen no war.  She was short but compact; I do believe she could hold her own against even so trained as one of the Warriors Three.  But this was not a moment to be thinking of that.  
  
“Loki.”  Our eyes burned into one another.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“What do you want me to do?” she breathed.  I could have asked her to jump into the freezing ocean right now and she would do it.  But I would not.  
  
I suppose I had been taking quite long enough.  The woman looked like she was going to faint from sheer excitement.  I looked back at the bed, gesturing to it with a shake of my head.  “Lay down.”  She did.  “Close your eyes.”  They closed.  
  
The whining returned, “Are you at least going to take something off?”  
  
“All in due time.”  
  
Hands traveling down the pale expanse of her skin.  Lips retracing their path.  My discarded leather.  An anticipative look from her, followed by a command of her own.  “Kiss me.”  I obeyed.  There were only had a few additional requests.  Switch positions, so that I was the one looking up at her.  The woman was quite a sight.  The memory has accompanied me ever since, and there have been a few lonesome evenings that the image has brought me much comfort.  
  
“Open up.”  
  
“Yes.”  She moved her legs further apart.  
  
“You are so very good at doing what you are told,” I purred.  
  
She wanted to pounce on me instantly, but held back. “Yes I am.”  
  
It was a few minutes later, an exclamation of pain caused me to pause in my current undertakings.  “What is it?”    
  
Her face was glorious, but in her eyes there was a flash of annoyance.  One of my hands left its current grip on her hip bones, and I ran the back of my hand down her face.  “I can’t feel my toes.”  
  
“You don’t need those right now...silly woman.”  
  
“I know, it just feels strange...like they have been in the cold too long.  
  
“Who knew?  The murderous White Lady would be defeated by her own muscles and sinews?”  
  
“Oh shut up!  We will keep going or I will live up to my reputation,” she barked, pressing herself to me.  The woman very nearly bit into my shoulder; I would have to tease her more often.  
  
The blissful haze of the ensuing feelings lifted later on, when she had solidified back into human form and we were no longer one.  My blissful hedonism was replaced with a hyper-awareness of everything about her, in spite of every fiber of my being screaming for sleep.  
  
I drank her in as if I had never seen her before. There was a bead of sweat on the indentation between her lips and her nose, which I wiped off gently with my thumb.  I had never examined the indentation of her collarbone as closely as it warranted.  On the inside of her wrist, grazing my neck so close to my eyes, the delicate veins reminded me of a river and its tributaries.  I kissed any part of her that was within lips’ reach.  She shivered against me; I who know no cold shivered too.  No, there was no energy for that right now.  Maybe in a few hours.  So with nothing physical to do, that meant it was time for a smart comment, right?  “I was right about taking my time, yes?”  This roused her from her euphoria, but the glow remained.  
  
She nodded defeatedly, maneuvering herself from a position on her side facing me onto her back, settling back onto her mass of golden hair like a pillow.  She could move, but barely.  Pleasure had nearly left her paralyzed.  "You will find that there is such a thing as bragging too much.”  
  
“Never.”  Hey -- I have not once ever claimed to be a gracious victor.  I would enjoy my spoils to the fullest.  
  
Our love has always been an unspoken bond.  But on this occasion I made a very special exception.  Clutching her to me, forehead to forehead, I growled, “I love thee, O Sigrid of Midgard, White Lady turned Golden...”  
  
“Yes, yes...I love you too.”  She released an indulgent moan.  
  
“You do?”  I whispered it as if confessing.  
  
“Really.”  She could fall asleep at any moment, but she was consciously keeping her eyes locked with mine.  
  
“Really?”  My eyebrows were being more expressive than anyone‘s eyebrows in existence in this situation had the right to be.  
  
“Yes.  I love you more than anyone has ever loved anything in existence.  More than I ever thought myself capable.”   She had come so very far from threatening strange visitors with a skewering.  
  
The exhausted silence was broken for a moment for the Greatest Idea I Ever Had: “You should change your name.”  
  
“What to?”  She entertained foolishness, but she was reaching her limit.  She may have wanted to fall asleep in protest of it.  
  
“Sigyn.”  
  
Her frustrated sigh revealed she cared not a bit what she were called. “That means the very same thing as Sigrid, only with the added meaning of girlfriend...”  The sentence ended with another sigh. “Whatever you call me, call me yours.”  
  
“Call me thine," I smirked.  
  
“Thine,” she repeated, returning the grin.  “Now shut up and go to sleep or I will make you.”  
  
"Is that a promise?"  
  
"You know it is.  Now hold me."  
  
She was not the only one who could follow orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oopsies, realized that there was a sentence that made it sound like Loki had threatened her. No, she was the one doing the threatening. Fixed that. A lot of this story was written very late at night/very early in the morning.
> 
> don't you prefer Loki to Christian Grey? I do feel like even our friendly neighborhood super-villain would be a much better Dom in the consent department. No offense to Fifty Shades fans. But Loki is far superior to Christian, sorry. I hope we can all agree on this. 
> 
> Also Thank You to Tom Hiddleston's parents for making such a perfect human being. ;) All the fanpeople, Tumblr users, and fanfic readers thank you.
> 
> And finally, can you tell I was inspired by the Crimson Peak trailer? It comes out 10/16...I am very excited.


	12. Transitory Harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reveal of a long-hidden secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I was obsessively working on this for a while. But then life happened. Between getting engaged and 40 hour work weeks, my poor Loki was ignored for a while. Sorry for the delay. (I did see Crimson Peak though! So good, and especially great for a former English Lit major to go see!) I do have the overall plot planned out already, so just a few little additions and I will be ready to post the rest of the story.

* * *

 Though our time spent together after crossing this threshold was brief, it deepened and shaped our understanding of one another.  The winter crept upon us whilst our relationship increased its fervor.  Those few weeks seemed to me the most peaceful of my entire life.  There were neither a list of precepts to follow, nor ceremonial niceties to maintain.  We existed together, no lies or trickery between us. That is, after I revealed my true self.  But more on that later.

  
Sig, for her part, settled into the physical part of our relationship flawlessly. It may have been that once her mind fully gave itself to me, her body just joined in naturally.  The modesty she had displayed at first revealed itself to be fear; with that out of the way, she was a force to be reckoned with. She was fierce and passionate, and assured that I slept well by thoroughly exhausting me beforehand.

That self she had cultivated for so long had stifled her, kept her from fully enjoying existence, at least being able to devote one's mind and spirit to something other than survival.  Solitude.  Mistrust.  It had hardened her, made her seem cold.  She was not a social person, by any means; as introverted as myself.  But it was in congress with another that she seemed most herself.  I made sure that the trust I had worked so hard to earn was maintained.  It must not come to pass that she regretted giving it.  
  
We did go out, as necessity demanded a few more pieces of prey, to be butchered, smoked, and dried to help food stores to last the winter, should prey be scarce.  But we did not go about these actions hurriedly or in a panicked manner. It was just as it had been before, only there was the additional warmth of another's body to thaw you at the end of the night.  The nights grew longer, but it didn't bother us. I would tell her stories in front of the fire.  Unlike those the Norse loved so well, they were not the grand legends of Gods and Goddesses, but the quiet reality of my young life.  
  
It was to our mutual amazement that the guises in which we first presented ourselves had not met the true quality of our characters.  Like Sig -- she was not the one-dimensional figure that the Norse made her out to be.  The "White Lady" had actually been quite disgusted by her reputation, though it kept her from being bothered.  She was never one to make a spectacle of herself, and the few encounters that had earned the fear of the Norse had been "misunderstandings."  
  
Even how she appeared in our first meetings was not completely who she was inside.  Completely aware and focused out in nature while on the hunt, Sigyn indoors would often get lost in thought until roused to reveal about what it was that she had been thinking.  Seemingly so self-possessed and sure of herself, I was surprised to find that she shared my paralyzing fear of failure.  She had become so talented a hunter from years of tedious practice; she had spent her life mastering the skill.  (I stand by my assertion that the woman could outshoot Clint Barton even whilst blindfolded and with one arm tied behind her back.)  
  
She seemed so fearless because prior to taking action she had completely exhausted herself in mental rehearsal beforehand.  This was one thing I did not expect of her.  I regret now that she had not been around at later junctures of my life.  Though we never faced a crisis together, she mentally played through every possible occurrence.  Given a bit of battle experience, I swear the woman could be a tactical genius.  
  
It also was very helpful for a dreamer like myself to be able to converse with someone so very practical.  She listened, starry-eyed, to my descriptions of my wishes and dreams, but subsequently questioned me on how realistic such a dream was, or how I would go about achieving it.

To put it simply, my ideal life would be out of court, simply being left alone to live my life in peace.  “This,” I said as I squeezed her.  As much as I could read people, the mental and emotional gymnastics the Asgardian court demanded was far too much for me.  “Except perhaps a few more buildings.”

"I would like to visit a library like your mother's...I can't read languages other than runes, but I am sure I would be an eager learner."  To this I added my agreement.  “I do suppose I am living my own ideal life,” she murmured, "it is mine as I made it, and I have no one who tells me how to live it.  Such freedom is quite rare, I know."  Shying away from the philosophical, she added, “though I might enjoy somewhere a bit warmer.”  I took this as a cue to hug her closer to me.

From mostly silent and hard to read, Sig had become one of the most open and direct communicators I have had the pleasure of knowing.  Sentiment and abstract feelings, as present as they were within her, were difficult to put into words; she preferred action to demonstrate them.  Being starved for touch and love for so long made her incredibly generous with her own affections.  I would often feel empty in subsequent years without her small frame by my side

One thing she did let me know.  I had succeeded so well in winning her over because I had made no demands, just her company.  She gave herself over so completely because it was what she wanted to do.  This power over her, given to me freely, felt thousands of times better than any I had stolen later in life from those who gave it out of fear.

As best as she could express, she welcomed me into her inner life.  She made clear exactly why she had reacted the way she had in regards to my various questioning regarding her parents.  She was furious that someone who had caused his own dilemma did not remain in order to take responsibility and care for the child he had created.  Thinking of her mother, she felt regret above all.  Yes, what her mother and grandmother had done, abandoning her, was heartless.  But it was out of fear that they acted.  Had her father been around, she could at least have existed around someone who was like her, who could help her understand exactly what it was to be half-Asgardian.  She had not created lasting attachments very often in her life; most of her caretakers were not in her life long enough.  And after she was old enough to fend for herself, these attachments were dangerous.

Not so with me.  She relished the safety and contentment she felt in my arms, but shared what fears and doubts plagued her waking hours.  I was quite aware that this woman suffered greatly, having for all purposes been abandoned and left to fend for herself in the world.  The craving for affection of her entire life was being fulfilled by one.  Not that she wouldn't have been passionate otherwise; no, but she put her entire being into our love.  
  
It was after she had revealed so much that keeping my true self from her began to eat away at me.  As so many did, she thought I was a son of Odin, an Asgardian.  While my life had been spent there, the truth was not simple as it appeared.  And especially to one for whom I cared so much, to go on without telling the truth was something for which I may never have forgiven myself.

She had been so straightforward, so honest in self-disclosure.  It was more than one could expect from one's lover, or at least much more than I felt I deserved.  We were nestled together, speaking as we often did in the evening about the day itself or what would come the next, when I decided to tell her.  When we did not speak, we otherwise simply existed in the quiet warmth of the evening, needing nothing but that which was at arm’s reach.  It had been a while since either one of us had spoken, when it overcame me.  The charade had gone on long enough.  She must know or I would regret it forevermore.  
  
“So, you remember I told you I was raised with Odin's son?"  
  
“Yes, I remember you talking of Thor....why do you mention it?"  She shifted from her parallel position at my side to bring herself to face me.  Much of what I had spoken about when discussing my childhood was my kinsmanship with him.  
  
“Sig, there is a reason I felt I didn't belong."  It did not happen often, but her blue eyes held the confusion that they had contained during our first meeting.  My dramatic side, I saved for the Norse.  Between my love and I there was no such tension.  So this behavior was strange for Sig to behold.  
  
“Oh?"  She must have thought I was going to talk of psychological things.  She often replied with short statements and inquiring looks when she thought I needed to get something off my chest.  She knew I had no problem expressing my innermost feelings, and she appreciated being able to share in them.  
  
“Yes.  I am going to show you something now, and it may..."  
  
“May what?  Frighten me?"  She laughed, knowing how even when I seemed troubled, that the sound relaxed the tenseness in me.  “You forget, oh Loki of Asgard, that I am the legendary White Lady of the Island, at least formerly white, now golden-haired lady of said island.  I have taken down a musk ox by my own hand, and struck fear into an entire tribe of Norsemen besides.  What could possibly scare me?”  She sat up to give a dramatic gesture that emphasized how powerful she was.  
  
I chuckled.  She was feisty.  This was when I loved her most.  But my face soon went back to being somber.  “There is a reason I don’t need the warm furs that the Norse, and even you do.”  So I explained that while I had been raised with Thor, and that Asgard was my home, that I was not one of them.  
  
“You say you’re a what?  A  jotun?”  
  
“Frost giant.  Of Jotunheim.  An enemy of Asgard and its residents.  Surely you have heard of them.”  Of course she had.  It may have been centuries, but she lived and accompanied the Norse in their trip to this land.  The frost giants were as important a part of their belief system as Odin himself.  
  
“Really?  You are not joking with me.”  She had found me to have a strange sense of humor, so there were times that my jokes warranted explanation.  But this was not a joke.  
  
“Assuredly not.  My existence would be much easier if the story I present was the actual truth."  I stared for a long moment into her eyes, wistful.  "Here, let me show you.”  
  
I entreated her to stay seated.  I removed my shirt from my back, standing.  I opened the door and went outside, without shoes, grabbing an icicle from the frame of her door.  It was hard for me, having remained in a form which I could fit in in Asgard for most of my life, to simply revert back to my natural form.  It took something concrete, something cold, to help me to remember, and then the effect would spread.  Holding the ice, I looked at it in my hand.  It was not melting.  The change was slow, like a bleeding wound or an accidental spill of some liquid.  Slowly the alabaster color turned its true color, a dark blue.  I watched it as it spread, so that I did not have to see her reaction until it was finished.  There, no white to be seen.  It was last that the blue of my eyes flashed red.  I dropped the ice so that it might melt.  
  
I knew this woman was very different from those of Asgard.  Perhaps it was her upbringing or lack thereof, maybe just her personality.  Women of the court, like my mother, were much like metal or marble.  They could face tragedy, heartbreak, even certain destruction with a face that remained strong, or at the very least, unreadable of emotion.  They maintained their composure eternally, though they may be completely destroyed inwardly.  Sig was like an open book to me, and though it was usually welcome, I cursed that I could read her so very well.  The countenance of my beloved had changed completely.  Rather than looking confused as she had, or amused that I had insinuated she had fear, the primary emotion she displayed was complete awe.  The blood had drained from her face and I saw she had begun to breathe a bit faster, shallower.  
  
I warned her, hadn‘t I, that it might scare her?  Damn the truth, to see this flash of alarm in her eyes pained me.  These were more the eyes of the woman who had not interacted with another for decades and faced all intrusions with fear, not of the one who had so completely captivated me.  I stepped forward, grabbing the tunic I had been wearing.  “Are you all right?"  
  
Leaning forward, she breathed, “Yes.  I am all right.  Let me understand this, though."  Her hand went to mine, and she let it rest on top of the piece of clothing in order to stay my action of returning it to my back. “You have hidden this from most...for most of your existence?"  My quick tongue made no reply, but I nodded assent.  “I understand your reasoning, based on how you have described those of your realm."  
  
She examined me with her eyes, gaze traveling from my feet up the length of my body.  Our gazes met once more.  The warmth seemed to be returning to her cheeks.  “How does it feel?"  
  
“What, you mean...the hiding or the being like this?"  
  
“Both."  
  
“It is a bit odd, I only discovered my ability to control it...I had grown used to blending in that it takes conscious effort to show my true form."  
  
She shivered unconsciously.  “Cold?" She gave me a shy smile and her cheeks flushed.  
  
“No."  
  
“I can change back if you like..." I murmured as I consciously made the Asgardian flesh tone appear on the tips of my fingers, like frostbite.  
  
There was a desperation in her eyes as she demanded, “No!  Stay as you are."  
  
“I have never stayed as I am for long."  
  
“I am seeing your true self for the first time.  If you would, I should like to spend a night with you as you were born.  In the morning you can take whatever form you like, and everyday afterwards.”  
  
“As you wish.”  
  
She had been on her knees, leaning towards me.  Sig sighed as she set her weight back on her haunches.  “Are you desirous to rest?”  It was a lot to take in, perhaps she needed a night of sleep in order to fully ponder and let this truth fully process.  
  
The golden lady revealed herself once more, and I was glad to have her back.  “I am desirous.  But not for sleep.” The shirt was dropped to the floor, forgotten, and she welcomed me into her arms.

I did not spend long in my true form, but it was refreshing to be able to actually show it to someone.  The weight that keeping it hidden from Sig created in me was lifted, as expected, by this action.  It was welcome that her reaction was not that of disgust or fear.  The remaining time we spent together felt the most peaceful of my life, as I must act as no one but exactly who I was.


	13. Separated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki leaves Midgard, but not before making a mutual promise.

* * *

It was folly, I knew, to imagine that our time together would be unending.  But I was naive then.  I had already spent a good few months away from the world I came from, from the end of summer until winter.  Surely someone other than Heimdall had realized I was gone, and had sent out a search party to all the nine realms.  It was a very likely possibility.  But as for me?  I did not miss my home realm in the least.  Asgard and its throne called much less urgently in those days.  Rather, the embrace of this small woman held more attraction for me then.   Days spent outside, nights wrapped in each other.  I would have had winter last forever.

But I discovered that I could not live in ignorance of Asgard.  It was on one of those occasions that parted us, when I had gone elsewhere in Midgard in order to gather provisions to begin preparing for winter.  I had just packed a boat and was preparing to return when I saw them.  It was not an uncommon sight to see birds this far north, especially not leaving the Norse settlement.  Birds found that population resulted in scraps they could steal.

But to see ravens, in this area of the world, yes.  The two of them were perched side by side on a tall rock near the shore.  And they were unnaturally large.  There was no way these birds had gotten that big in this area of the world.  No, they were too large to be of this realm.  I knew them instantly, and my heart began to beat so hard as to threaten to leave my chest.  It was Huginn and Muninn, Odin's ravens, and surely they knew where I was now.  Which meant their master was not far behind. Once on her island, I ran as fast as my legs could take me in order to alert the mistress of the island that her guest was to reside no more.

I wish I had been given more time.  I would have made love to her, murmured affections in her ear, and left when she had fallen asleep.  It would have been easier for me to leave her with a happy memory.  But my departure was to be made quickly.  I mustn’t risk any ill effect of my punishment harming her.  I explained what I saw, and it killed me to see her response.  It was as if the woman was going to collapse into nothingness.  But she staved off her heart's desire to rip her in twain, and asked what I was going to do.

"Return." She nodded sadly, knowing that my worst fears had come to be, and that we were to be parted.

But it must not remain that way.  The ambition that had always resided within me seemed to be ignited by her love.  I would not let us remain parted, if it was the last act I committed.  If I had to wage war on those of my own realm, so be it.   “Mark me, love, I shall return.  Wait for me.  I will find you and make you Queen of the Nine Realms.”

Her eyes had begun to well up with more sorrow than I had ever seen.  “I have no need of a throne."  This I knew.  "Only to be ruled by thee.”   She knelt before me, not caring that she was basically in the dirt.  “Though it take a hundred generations more, this I vow.  Wait I shall, loyal to you alone...”

Forcing myself to imitate the Asgardians, I tried my best to face this kneeling, crying woman with strength.  Falling apart wouldn't  make this any easier. I pulled her to her feet, passionately kissing her and holding her to me as if I held my very soul in my hands.

In our last touch I squeezed the woman's little hand, and remarked to myself that despite the fact that I had built some calluses and rough spots on my hands, hers ever remained soft, despite a life lived roughly.

We quickly agreed on a contingency plan.  We swore our devotion...if we were to be parted, our hearts would ever remain true. We may visit other realms, live our lives separately, but if at all possible and sensible we would reunite. If not, we would remember our time together fondly.

  
With that I was gone from her life.  
  
I found it ironic that it was that night that the Northern Lights burnt the brightest, as I escaped to the secret passage to Asgard that led me to home and away from her.


	14. The Torment of Yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though not physically present in one another's lives, the interactions between the attempted victor of battle and his helpmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three time settings here: first, before Avengers #1, second, directly after Avengers #1, and third, during events of Thor 2.  
> Spoilers for those films. But obviously I hope you wouldn't have come here unless you have seen these films.

* * *

 And so it went.  I returned to Asgard.

Time always seemed to pass differently between the two realms.  What had seemed a very extended amount of time away from my home when on Midgard, had been seen as a brief absence by Thor and the others.  Near immortal beings have a way of seeing things in that way.

I still thought of her, of course; almost every night.  For quite a while it pained me to think of her; I thirsted for her as a man in a desert did for water.  But to return to Midgard?  I feared for her.  Heimdall knew where I had been, and I had inklings that my foster father knew at least vague details of my time in this other realm.  I refused to incur the wrath of the Allfather on an innocent.  As for myself, the only repercussion I experienced for my absence was an increased lack of privacy.  Servants who had no business being around me casually found themselves within earshot of things I said to others.

This lasted a few decades, until Odin was sure that I wasn't going to bolt for Midgard at my first convenience.  It took conscious effort not to, but I found my mother and brother anchored me there.  I would return when I could assure her safety and keep her with me forever.  The time was not right.  Sig remained a memory, a figment of my imagination, for several centuries.  I spoke to none of her.  There was an occasion that I almost revealed her existence to Mother.

We walked together around the grounds of the palace, something we were wont to do in those days, and conversed while we did so.  She had been speaking about matters of the heart, or perhaps the many young women who fawned over my brother.  I can't remember.  "I can only hope that Thor chooses wisely, and picks a girl who will make a good queen.  Not a foolish, vain girl, but a woman of substance that might make a good advisor for a ruler.  If anything, I wish that for him."  Thor in those days was still proud and a bit foolish, not having experienced defeat on the battlefield.  We both knew he needed good advisors if he was to rule.  We were both concerned for my brother, but she made sure I knew he wasn't the only concern of her heart.  "I wish it for you too."  She squeezed my arm.

"There is no need..." Bless her, imagining me ignorant to the matters of the heart.  Since my trip to Midgard, I had been moodier overall; keeping the secret of that trip challenged me, especially since it had changed me so.  I had begun to speak, to tell her I had already made a choice, but the words would not come, or the will to explain them was extinguished.

"What was that you were saying, son?"

"Nothing, mother.  I hope those things for us as well."

* * *

And what became of Sig, at home on Midgard? Wait she did.  Wait, and learn, and wait.  And wait...and then wait some more.

It became easier to think of her; I would smile when I saw an archer, or a girl in the palace with their hair styled similarly to that of Sig.  She could take care of herself, I knew; I only had to wait for the right opportunity to arise to go to her.

* * *

**2012**

**562 years later**

It came to pass that, despite possessing the tools and forces I did, I was defeated.  When the battle was over, I did not return to her.  Yet she did not lose faith.  She tells me now her line of thinking regarding this.  Patience, she told herself.  She had gone centuries without me; Asgardians live for thousands of years.  The time she had waited, was waiting, and would wait was nothing compared to the time we would share once reunited.  
  
Many would have died of heartbreak, went on with their lives, forgotten completely of the one who had first ignited their soul.  But not Sigyn.  She is the most singular creature I have ever met.  For even as she watched the international news how the rebuilding of New York occurred, she was optimistic. It is quite inspiring, actually.  She does that for me more often than I realize, and my gratitude is unending.  I had promised her I would return, and I would not fail.  It might take just a bit longer. 

You may wonder, where did she go after the battle of New York?  Back to Greenland of course.  Her mission had been accomplished.   Even with all of its resources in the age of worldwide technology, S.H.I.E.L.D. found it was hard to access the woman once she had returned to her homeland.  And really, what did they have other than a few co-incidences, a few interactions with those she had no earthly reason to be visiting.  The location she had her vacation home in was quite remote, nearly inaccessible area of the Arctic circle.  S.H.I.E.L.D. had not reason enough to hold her.  Even their attempt to question her, to break her silence, resulted in little information gathered.  Being curious wasn’t a crime.  The organization would have been guilty of that crime itself.  
  
But what is the truth of the matter, you say?  She had experienced dreams; vague enough mental hints to guide her.  The woman is clever and she left herself and her mind completely open to me.  What else would she do with the five hundred plus years alone on Midgard?

* * *

She had considered staying in America until I saw her.  Not in reality of course, as I was being taken home in chains.  
  
My mouth and hands may have been restrained in my return trip to Asgard, but my mind was not.  That is the one thing that no one, on any of the nine realms, could ever restrain.  That and my heart.  The link of these two with this woman made the connection all the easier.  As I had to guide her before I came, I reached out to her across the cosmos. Those hints that had led her to make my arrival possible were replaced with something much more explicit.   This time I visited her dreams.

I had never ventured out of Manhattan when on Midgard, so the sights were new to me.  She looked a bit lost, though this was a familiar cafe she frequented.  Mostly it was the sudden-ness of her otherwise dreamless sleep being hijacked so purposefully.  Where had the coffee in front of her come from?  Why was it so quiet?  It was the middle of the day and she saw no one around her.  Especially for New York this was extremely troubling.

“Sig.”

It was a voice she hadn’t heard in centuries, but her hunter’s ears, trained from so many years of tracking animals, knew exactly where I was standing. She did not stand from her seat but twisted around to look at me.  “Oh.”

  
“Well done, my love.”  I approached, taking a seat opposite her.

Her face was a mix of emotions.  It was as if she was going to laugh, cry, and punch me all at the same time.  She let none of them overtake her.  “Yes...I thought my reconnaissance work was quite successful.  Especially because I escaped detection and imprisonment for it.  I really did miss my true calling in espionage.”  She sipped her dream coffee.  Almost tasted real.  But anyone knows that in reality she would have had a scalded tongue for a sip of such a beverage.  
  
“You are too good for that.”  
  
“I somehow doubt this.”  The anger and happiness had faded and she was left looking melancholy.  “Yes, so what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t really have a choice in that, now, do I?  I must return to Asgard.”  I rubbed my cheek as if it were sore.  I did not disguise my current physical state in this dream form, so the cuts and bruises remained.  There was no sense hiding anything from her.

Dream Sig saw these and stood, holding my face in her hand and examining them as does a physician. “Are you ok?”

I closed my eyes, wishing this wasn't just a dream.  “Physically, yes.  Just sore.  It is the wounded pride that smarts more.”  
  
She stepped back from me.  “About that....”  Offering her my arm, I stood and we began to walk.  The coffee was abandoned.  Oh well, it was a dream...she could always return to it and find it not only just as warm but also refilled.  But this change in position did not deter her from her line of questioning.  “What exactly was that?  As far as invasions go it made absolutely no sense."

“I did not dream it up on my own.  Actually...the entire thing was dreamed up by the Other.  I believe I was to prepare the planet for his master.  It was quite the failure."

She was always talented at getting to the heart of the matter: "Did you do that of your own free will?"

There was no team of superheroes to impress, no brother to continue deceiving.  "No.  I did give it my best...but Midgard's bravest worked much better together than an alien horde and an unwilling leader."

The anguish in her visage eased a bit. “What responsibility do I hold for all of that?"

“You only did what I asked of you.  It is good that I know my brother's comrades, regardless.  You shouldn't feel any responsibility for what the Chitauri did."  The troubled look on her face told me that this was easier said than done.  “Now...an important question..."  She perked up.  “What have you done to your hair, and why?"  
  
The luxurious long locks I had been so enamored of in our time together were nowhere to be seen.  Instead, her remaining hair hung not even to her shoulders.  She was my Sig, but this short haircut, paired with her Midgardian garb, made her not so familiar to me.  I had gotten used to seeing Midgardian women in trousers, but it seemed strange for one I spent time with in another era to look so modern and downright alien to me.  “Cut it, out of mourning, of course.  I did it after you left the first time, as well.  Hairstyling has come a long way since then...it looks much better this time 'round than when I had to cut it myself.  With a knife.”

“My dear, I didn’t remember you being so dramatic.”

"This **is** a dream...." in a moment, having control of this dream, she was transformed completely.  Her golden hair was back to its former glory, undone and flowing.  She had gone a step further as well -- she was now wearing the apparel I remembered from all those centuries ago, when we had first met.  "Better?"  My amused look must have told her such an action was not characteristic of her.  "What?  Maybe you've rubbed off on me a little."

I was not going to let her show me up.  I returned to my former appearance: long black hair turned short, no scrapes or bruises, and much less pain and anguish in my eyes. My face also became a bit rougher, not quite a beard but not the cleanly shaven appearance I maintained so carefully in Asgard and in modern times.  It was a bit of foolishness...but hey, anything to make us remember this dream-meeting.

"I actually do like your hair longer, though," she teased, leaning up on tip-toes to kiss me.  Despite the difference in appearance, this was truly the same Sig I had loved all those years ago.  In fact, I think our absences from one another's lives had increased my love exponentially.

* * *

Our dream-walk had led us to the Brooklyn Bridge and the East River.  "I met my father."

 "You did?  You found him?"

"Yes, the internet is a wonderful thing."  She had definitely assimilated to Midgardian culture.  But I was proud she was able to accomplish what she felt necessary for her to find peace in life.

"His name, now, is Dr. Elliot Randolph.  Folklore professor.  I went all the way to Spain.  You would like it there."  She went on to describe the history, the mosques and grand cathedrals.  I do agree that it sounded like a place I would enjoy.  But I was not in Midgard, so vacation plans were not something possible for any foreseeable future.  She returned to the topic at hand.  "But yes...I confronted him.  Told him who I was, and that I knew who he was."

"How did he react?"

"He tried to explain, escape some of the responsibility for the ruin that was my childhood.  I stopped him, explained that I wasn't there for a relationship with him.  'I have no need, I said,' " she frowned, "'for any further contact with you.  I just had to see you, and tell you what has become of me.  I did just fine on my own.  My mother, however...  I gave him an idea of the lives he had ruined by creating mine and then leaving.  To say the least, he has a lot to think about now."

This was a big thing for her to have done.  The intervening years between our last meeting had strengthened her more than I had ever imagined.  And to tell him what she thought?  Wow.  She had truly become a force to be reckoned with.  Forget Captain America. This woman was superhuman.  And she didn't need any scientific intervention to do these things.

* * *

She seemed to sense that I hadn't much time remaining to spend with her.   "What is to become of me, my love?"  She buried her head in my chest, clutching me tightly.  This dream embrace was the closest we would get to touching.  It would have to do.

"You needn't remain...you could go home.  I know you hate being around this many people."

"Yes..."  She pulled back, looking up at me. For one happiest as a hermit, this was the worst place in all creation.  I don't know how she withstood it.

"Just so that I know where you are..."

She nodded, touching my cheek gently.  "I will go home.  I have made more than a few upgrades to my home in the intervening years between your visit."

"Good."  I kissed her in this dream form.  "Until then, dearest."

* * *

From time to time I would visit her as I had before, in daytime visions.  These, unlike the flashes giving her missions to accomplish or the dream visit, happened when I could sense from her an unease, or any strong negative emotion.  Sig confesses that she would get violent migraines afterwards from these episodes; but if it meant she could see me, it was worth it.  There was once that the migraine had started before the vision was fully over.  I cradled her head in my hands, saddened that one who had survived the Black Death and had very few days of illness in her long life would be affected in such a way by my powers.  "Honestly, Sig, you live in the age of instant gratification and convenience....you took better care of yourself when you had to shoot your own food."  It was true, and it made her chuckle painfully.  It was this gentle laughter that kept me from falling into despair.

At the end of each vision, I left with the same promise I had left her with those centuries before.  We would be together again.  There were times I doubted it myself, but she helped me to believe that it would be possible, someday.

* * *

I only experienced these visions from the receiving side once.  It was the night Mother died.  I credit Sigyn's visit for keeping me from completely losing my sanity.   I had destroyed the room in which I had been kept out of rage and sorrow.  I sat amongst the debris, suddenly completely numb.  It was hours that I stared into blank space.  My soul was at the lowest point I felt it could go.  What was existence anymore?  I saw no purpose in anything.

But a short figure appeared outside my cell.  A familiar one.  She had no problem, being a vision, of walking through the walls that kept me there, apart from everyone else; and none of the creatures being kept elsewhere in the dungeon could see her.  I knew this was a hallucination, but it did not keep me from watching her closely.  She stepped carefully, though not being real she needn't do, and made sure not to let her feet touch any of the broken furniture.

She wore Midgardian clothing and her hair was a bit longer than when I had last seen her in her dreams.  She did not speak, but carefully met my eyes as approached and sat on the floor opposite me.

"Hello."

"Sig."

"This is an interesting sort of situation, isn't it."  She looked around her.  Had everything around her not been destroyed, it wasn't incredibly bad as jail cells go.  "I would ask if you are okay but I know quite well that you are not."

I gathered up the composure to tell her what happened.  "Mother is dead.  She died protecting Jane Foster."

She knew that only something that extreme would cause the destruction, both physical and emotional, that she saw before her.  "A brave woman...in death she was everything you described of her in life.  I regret I never got to meet her, she shaped you so."  I noticed now she was barefoot.  She nudged my foot with her own.

Very little could distract me from this pit of despair.  "I am a failure...I caused this.  Why...why am I even still existing, while she is dead?"  I continued, "You know, the last time we spoke, I told her that she was not my mother.  I never got to apologize."  This was really what crushed me.

It took a long moment for her to answer.  My pain caused her pain.  "You know her...she knew you, she knew you didn't mean it. We all lash out at others in pain. She knew in her heart how you really felt."

This vision of Sig took it upon herself to go from sitting across from me to next to me.  I collapsed into her lap, completely broken.  "None of that defines you.  You did not cause her to be killed.  When it counted, no matter what you have done, you were loved.  You are loved."  She spoke quietly, slowly, matter of fact.  The stringy black strands of my hair had been messed about when I exploded.  She brushed these strands out of my eyes, touching my cheek.  I swear I could actually feel her touch, though it had been centuries since I experienced it.  Reality and the storm of emotion that was raging within me was too much to face.  Breathing deeply, I tried to concentrate on this vision of her.  Her words, her touch, her love.  For a moment, in the midst of the chaos, I had peace.

The vision stayed with me for about an hour.  Near the end, I murmured to her, "I really do not know if we will ever see one another again in reality.  Jailed, isolated, punished...I do not think I will ever be allowed to leave."

She was ever true.  "I have faith, my Loki. A hundred generations, remember?"  Before I slipped into unconsciousness, I swear I could feel her soft little lips kissing me on the forehead, as a caregiver would in order to assure their charge would sleep in safety and comfort.

I awoke to see that she was gone.  I was left with the remnants of my sad existence...pathetic, to say the least....but I had a shred of hope that something could be made of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine telepathy to be one of Loki's powers.


	15. Realization of Reverie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected visitor brings the news Sig has been longing centuries to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this section occurs after Thor: the Dark World (it would be important for you to know the last scene of that film) and I would think is taking place during the events of Avengers: Age of Ultron.
> 
> Be aware that POV switches from Loki to Sig under the section divider.

* * *

**2015**  
  
**Asgard**  
  
  
Sigyn's optimism ended up being right after all.  It had taken trickery, and faking one's own death, but almost six hundred years later, I finally found the time to be right for us to reunite.  
  
It was after I had sent my brother off in the guise of his father, and had established myself as ruler of Asgard, that I finally sent for her. Those whose loyalty had once been wholly possessed by Odin soon turned to pay me homage when I filled their purses with gold and filled their minds with promises of future riches.  
  
I chose a single man, privy to the location of one of the secret passages, to retrieve her from Midgard.  I would have gone myself, but there was the whole matter that I was the planet's most wanted should I ever return.  Though we both expected and wanted to reunite, I know that Sig may not have believed my messenger unless he was given very specific instructions.  I waited for him to bring her back to me.  
  
 

* * *

 **2015**  
  
**Greenland**  
  
**Midgard**  
  
I had never intended to stay in New York; it was a temporary residence for my purposes.  Loki’s power of suggestion had grown ever stronger in the 20th century, but it had been mere gut feelings that led me to be in the right place at the right time to help in his failed invasion.  It was once I obtained my second Doctorate that it occurred to me that America would be the location of any real action on the interplanetary scale.  (Americans were some of the silliest Midgardians, so I hope they never realize their galactic importance.  Might give them a big head.)  And where else but New York?  
  
I was so very glad, although my Brooklyn residence was quite nice, to be coming home.  Sváva wasn’t sure yet, having become my pet in America.  Time would change that.  
  
Time.  The one thing of which I had too much.  I would be lying if I said that these years between us had flown by.   But I laugh now.  My life had stayed the same for so long, but then these subsequent changes in my life came so close together.  Three years was a blink of an eye. 

The old sod house in which Loki had warmed my bed had been long destroyed by the ravages of time.  In its place had been houses of various styles and sizes, including around forty years that I spent with the Inuit living in an Igloo.  Pretty sure that a particular jotun man would have enjoyed it more than I.  My current home was larger than an igloo.  Deep in my heart, I still prefer my cozy longhouse, but this was sufficient for my purposes.  Situated by the kettle pond where I had taught my prince to fish, it was a two-story cabin that abounded in one feature which I would have greatly loved in my former house, windows.  Sváva and I had been settled in for a few years when my visitor arrived.  
  
I would sometimes get unannounced visitors, local historians or neighbors, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for someone to visit me.  Loki would be glad to know I no longer threatened them with becoming a shish-kebab; I had a shotgun for that purpose should the need arise.  Which is not to say that I abandoned archery completely; I simply saved it for hunting and for competitive shooting.  
  
“Sigrid Inluk.”  It was a young man, dressed all in black.  I stood in the doorway as I replied.  
  
“You found her.”  
  
“I am come on behalf of one who desires to send you a message and awaits your response."  This elevated way of speaking told me something was different. Also, no one delivered messages in person these days -- a phone call or email was much more convenient, especially in the Arctic Circle.  I would have at least received some sort of preface to this meeting had it been certified mail or a package.  
  
“May I enter?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He was young, and awkwardly new at this job, but seemed eager.  Slightly bearded, with curly black hair and black eyes, he wore clothes familiar to me, but not so to modern Midgardian eyes.  It was as if he was a historical re-enactor or LARPer.  If he were either of these things, he was damned good at it.  His cloak alone was so well-made that it would cause some of my college acquaintances to drool.  
  
He removed two packages from his coat and set each carefully on my kitchen table.  As I unwrapped them, he reported, “I am told that you will know what each of these mean and what action you are to take next.”  
  
The first, larger package was a weapon.  A large dagger, fourteen and a half inches long, with gold and black designs on the hilt as well as Norse-looking scrollwork.  I found it familiar, but I studied civilizations of the past and pagan religions, for Odin’s sake, so my mental library of images was filled with weapons and runes and all sorts of artifacts like this.  I can’t be blamed for not understanding the message right away.  That must have been why the second package was necessary.  
  
The second package was much smaller, and I found it to be a small box.  Opening it, I squinted at a delicate medallion on a chain, with a small blue-violet stone in the center.  Realization hit me like a train.  I nearly dropped the iolite-and-bronze pendant when my brain connected these items and realized what they meant.  
  
Finally.  By the roots of Yggdrasil!  We would be together again.

I had a moment of quiet as I indicated that I would like to wear this item, and he helped me to attach it in the back as I held my hair up.  This was not something he was used to, obviously, but he indulged me.  I did something quite ridiculous then.  I turned around, exclaiming, “Bless you dear boy, you have made me the happiest woman in the history of Western civilization,”  kissing the boy hurriedly on both cheeks, laughing, sobbing, and generally running about the room like a madwoman.  
  
The poor kid was the color of a tomato as he murmured, “I was told you might react in this way.”  He regained his composure, carefully wrapping the dagger back up and replacing it into the large inside pocket of his coat.   “I am to accompany you presently if you do not object.”  
  
“I would never object!  I do have a few things that need to be done first, though.  Do you need something to eat or drink?  I will take a short time.”  Though none of my visitors stayed long, I still tried to offer the hospitality that was so famous among my people.  He had answered in the negative, but I still insisted that he drink some coffee, as the fall weather outside was a bit chilly.  
  
Really I hadn’t that much to do, as I have had the first bag packed at least since the Enlightenment.  The items and the bag in which they were placed have had to be replaced from time to time, but right now it was a leather messenger bag for ease of use.  In this ever-packed bag, there were always the same four items: a hairbrush, a pair of archer’s gloves, a pair of arm bracers, and a silk headscarf.  In a larger duffel, I stuffed a quiver of arrows and my most prized bow, along with random clothing or personal care items I thought I might need.  
  
I had been planning this farewell to my realm, but to see it come to be was a dream come true.  I guess the Norsewoman in me was still a bit of a pyromaniac as well, because before we were to leave the realm, I made the messenger (whose name I found out was Aren) wait outside for a moment with the cat.  Shuffling about the house, I emerged some minutes later.  Aren’s eyes widened as he peered inside in disbelief.  Grey wisps of smoke had begun to follow me down the hall and out the door.  “Is that smoke?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Are you...”  
  
“Yep.”  I grabbed the wet rag I had left outside with him and my things and begun to wipe the gasoline from my hands. Electric generators were very useful sometimes.  
  
“Burning down the house.”  
  
I pointed accusingly at him.  There was to be no guilt on my side, even for this destructive act.  I had lived too long, guilty for even existing.  For once in my life, I was going to do what I wanted.  If Loki had taught me anything, it was that this was the way to true happiness.  “Hey, I built it.  And for me to truly leave this place, I needed a symbol.”  Besides, I knew my fires and how to control them.  The grass was far too wet, and the wind was not strong enough for it to cause anyone else danger -- my nearest neighbors were a few miles away.  The destruction would be limited to my house alone.  I could well and truly die to this realm and be reborn in a new life as a new person.  With the man to whom I could devote my existence.  
  
We stood for a half hour some ways away from the house as the flames engulfed it, while Sváva chased small animals around in the grass.  A wildcat at heart, she nonetheless would follow us on our journey.  You didn’t think I would leave her behind, did you?  Never.  She would be right at home in a palace.  Perhaps more so than her mistress.  
  
Aren cleared his throat as he picked up my larger, heavier bag.  “Lady Sigyn, may I be so bold as to say something before you are queen and it may mean my execution?”  
  
“My dear boy you could say anything right now and I would demand you be treated with leniency.”  
  
“I think you are quite mad.”

If my smile was any indication, yes, this was quite true.  “All the better.  I may well be.”  Shifting the smaller bag on my arm, I looped my other underneath his.  “Come now, my little eagle.  Let us fly.”  
  
“Yes.”  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this way of spelling Aren. Also, that's what Aren means in Norse -- eagle.
> 
> I guess this would be an interesting point to tell you that I have been inspired by Game of Thrones in this story. I imagine Aren looking like Jon Snow. No more Night's Watch for you young man.
> 
> I was also inspired by Miss Emilia Clarke in her role as Danerys Targaryen for Sigrid, especially at first with the white-blond hair. She is small but mighty and I adore her. Though I would be interested to see what you imagined her to look like or who you would choose as your image of her.
> 
> I was anticipating this chapter being boring before the writing bug bit me and burnt down Sig's house, so yay for me!


	16. Journeys End in Lovers Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a strange trip that took us to this point, but in the end it was all worth it. Loki's queen has arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom would be super proud. This chapter's title is a Shakespeare quote. It's from Twelfth Night. I would love to geek out over Shakespeare with Tom. He probably would put my knowledge to shame, having performed and pretty well memorized a lot of Shakespearean plays. But a girl can dream.
> 
> Continued POV of Sig with a final switch to Loki's.

* * *

  ** _Time is too slow for those who wait_ **  
**_too swift for those who fear_ **  
**_too long for those who grieve_ **  
**_too short for those who rejoice_ **  
**_but for those who love time is eternity._ \- Henry Van Dyke**

* * *

I must have fallen asleep at some point on our journey, because I woke up with a sudden movement.  “We are approaching the palace,” Aren murmured, as I straightened from where I had been leaning against the seat and took in my surroundings.  So this wasn't a dream.  
  
Once we had come through to this realm via water, a horse and cart had met us and was being driven by the young Asgardian to take me to my new home.  Thankfully, our feline companion had survived the trip as well as had her mistress, but inter-dimensional travel made one rather tired (or at least one that is not a full-blooded resident of Asgard or who is a Midgardian animal).  She adjusted herself slightly on my lap and put her head down to rest once again.  
  
My clothes still smelled a bit like smoke, and though I took in the details of the realm, I was still in a bit of a haze.  Everything was bright and shining.  Upon arrival at the palace, Aren handed me into the capable hands of a small group of female servants, who fussed about me and took it upon themselves to settle me in to life in this place.  The young man went off to report my arrival.  
  
I asked later on where Sváva had gone, and was told later that my feline friend had scurried off to investigate her palace and its smells.  Just as I anticipated -- the animal was made to be a royal.  
  
If the fire had not assured me that my old life was over, it was this.  I who had always survived on my own, let myself be cared for by these women.  They were quiet and efficient, almost to the point of invisibility.  Though greeting me with smiles, I could see that these women had expected me to be a frightening sort.  But no, the White Lady was dead.  I did not speak much with them, but smiled in payment for their kindnesses. I was offered food and drink, a bath was drawn for me, and I was given new clothes: a dressing gown, a fine white gown for my presentation unto the kingdom, and fine golden sandals.  But first the most senior servant entreated me to sleep after my long journey.  “Your lord has demanded it.  And after a nice rest, it will be all the easier to fully appreciate the beauty of your new home.”  I did not object.  
  
I shed my clothes like a snake sheds its skin.  The climate of Asgard, I had yet to adjust to, but it was warmer than Midgard.  That was something.  I would not need my bulky sweater.  At least the boots were still practical.

I eased myself into the hot water, and all the weariness of soul from all those years of waiting was released.  This was one thing that I had loved about modern Midgard - hot running water.  I sometimes thought that did any Midgardian shower in the temperature of water I liked, they would emerge with extreme burns.  
  
The eldest servant, a middle-aged woman with red hair named Pyra, was the only one who remained once I emerged from the bathroom.  I was clean but sleepy.  "When you wake I am to take you to the throne room," she indicated.  "But please, rest...I will help you dress if you wish once you wake.”  
  
I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.  I woke as rested as one who had slept for days, though it had only been a nap of about an hour or so.  Pyra helped me to dress and to fix my hair, leaving me to my own thoughts as she went about her work.  The immense nature of what my presence here meant came over me all at once, and I tried not to sob as I had after Aren had given me the packages.  Such happiness I had never known.  I was home.  
  
The thing that really struck me about this realm was the grandness of it.  I felt dwarfed, so very small, in every room I came into.  Even the bed in which I had slumbered seemed to swallow me entirely.  I was led down various corridors, until at last we came to a set of gigantic doors.  A side door into a room which could fit thousands, I saw a familiar face there to open and hold the entrance for me.  The young Aren.  “M’lady," he murmured, bowing to me before he completed his task of bringing me to the one I loved.

I nodded my gratitude.  "Thank you."

The same grandness in the rest of the realm was reflected here; the room could probably fit thousands. The light from outside filtered into the room, reflecting the gold of the throne inside.  The room was darker than I thought it would be, but that was of no importance.  The light behind me illuminated my path towards destiny.  There was nothing which was going to distract me.  There was only one reason I was here, and he was standing a few meters away.  Anything more than a moment more between us was too long.

* * *

I was told that when she first reached Asgard, she was outfitted in modern apparel much as Jane had worn when had Thor brought her here. I had directed the servants to care for her and let her rest for a while before adorning her much as they had my late mother in her bridal finery before she took her place by my side.  Of course Sig had never been one for showy frippery, so I chose a gown that wasn't overly ornamental.  It suited her quite well: pure white, clean lines emphasizing the lovely shape that I had not seen or touched in centuries but in my dreams.  It made her look as regal on the outside as she was inside.  A fitting way to attire my queen.  
  
I was sure that just as the young man who had brought her to me seemed charmed, the rest of the kingdom would soon be won over very quickly, despite the fact that she had brought a Midgardian creature with her; they would soon adore their new queen as they had my mother.

My Queen Sigyn, golden hair outshining Hlidskialf itself, did not flit about as Jane Foster had when faced with this new realm of existence, mind overwhelmed by the grand sights. No, her steps were solid and sure. She had no care for any of the glorious surroundings; as she approached the throne, her eyes were set squarely on me. Those sapphires bored into my very soul in a way that still makes me shiver. She hadn’t reached me yet when I abruptly dismissed everyone else from the throne room.  Once they were all gone, I sought to give her the welcome she so deserved.  
  
To emphasize my devotion to her, I removed my helm and laid my scepter down before her. Soon she was within reach, so I stood, walking down the steps from the throne to close the distance between us.  I reached out my hand to take hers, and placed a reverent kiss on it. “Welcome, my Queen.” For this woman I had waited lifetimes.  I would move heaven and earth for her, and anything else that got in between us.  
  
“Thank you, my Lord.” The woman curtseyed as though she had been raised in court. I was overcome with....yes, sentiment. She was made for the role she now took upon herself.  
  
“I’ve been waiting,” I growled hungrily, eager to claim her as I pulled her close.  Norns willing, she would never leave that place in my arms.  
  
The last thing I heard before I drowned in her loveliness was, “That makes two of us.”  
  
Wise as she was, she knew in her heart of hearts that my rule of Asgard would not last. I would surely fall, as do all kings and all kingdoms. All would fade and turn to dust. There may be pain and suffering and torment ahead of us. But at that moment that I gathered her to me, she was well and truly mine at long last, forever. That was all that mattered. I had suffered so much, but whatever future sorrows awaited me, I could endure it all, even die and leave all existence, if I only held her tiny hand in mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the Marvel movies making Loki rather unlike the Loki of Norse mythology, this is one of the parts of the mythology I really like. Sigyn’s devotion is pretty extreme. Let me know once you’ve read it all if it was worth it to spend the chapters of exposition. Did you like it? We all know that Loki needs his own movie. That is what drove me to write this story. Then I started researching and....this story happened. I am actually quite sad to leave the characters and not write any more to this story. But it has been a long time since I have begun and actually finished a fan fic. (Last one was a Phantom of the Opera fic called A Bit of Illumination on another website). Hopefully a good sign of things to come?

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this work comes from an Oliver Goldsmith poem, “The Traveller” specifically these lines:  
> “Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,  
> My heart untravelled, fondly turns to thee;  
> Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,  
> And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.”
> 
> What you interpret these lines to mean is up to you.


End file.
